


Blind

by Expectopatronum28



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Angst, Concerts, Disapproving Family, Fights, First Dates, First Time, Heartbreak, Love, M/M, Public Sex, Time Jump, handjobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2019-06-22 14:58:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15584469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Expectopatronum28/pseuds/Expectopatronum28
Summary: “What’re you laughing at?” Claude demands, playfully digging his fingers into the curved bones of Sid’s ribcage.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a heads up, Claude is 20 and Sid is 17. 
> 
> (I'm basically a trashcan for this trope.)
> 
> Non-linear narrative; story will jump between past and present (and will hopefully come full circle) 
> 
> [ Blonde!Claude inspired by this gem](http://i.imgur.com/6DMwsHe.jpg)

The gray clouds ushered a storm. Freezing sheets of rain fell hard and fast, the wind howled. Sid clung to Claude’s front, his body a shelter from the harsh downpour.  Claude fumbled with his keys and his shit lock as the rain beat his head. His eyelids drooped, his vision blurred. Claude’s shirt was drenched and plastered to his skin, frayed at the sleeves and tearing at the hem. It was July, but the air was raw and damp – the bright summer sun was not meant for Claude.

Boys like Claude belonged to the rain.

Claude’s bleached hair was matted to his forehead, a stark contrast to the dark locks tucked against his shoulder, tickling his chin. Sid whined as the key finally,  _painstakingly,_ fit into the lock. Claude twists the sliver of metal between his numb fingers and pushes it open.

They stumble inside, still tangled together. Claude kicks the door shut.

“Are you okay?” Claude asks, his hands sliding up to cup Sid’s pale face.

“Yeah” Sid croaks, teeth chattering.

Claude rakes his fingers through Sid’s wet curls, “Hold on.” He presses a quick kiss to his forehead.

Claude ransacks the place; he hasn’t been here in a while.

He pulls a portable heater from underneath the bed, the horizontal vents sheathed in dust. Claude wrinkles his nose as he unwinds the thick cord and plugs it into the nearest outlet. He flicks the on/off switch back and forth, twists the rounded knobs, then rattles the contraption – dust powdering the wet sheen of his skin, but there’s no sign of life.

Piece of fucking junk.

“It’s okay” Sid says, voice barely a hush.

Claude stalks to the bathroom, returning with a dryer in tow.

He connects the cord to the outlet adjacent to the bed and sits on the comforter, quickly peeling his shirt off. He clumps it into a wet ball and throws it over his shoulder. He shifts, resting his back against the headboard. He parts his legs and bends his knees – “C’mere.”

Sid crawls onto the bed, settling himself firmly between Claude’s splayed thighs – his back flush against Claude’s bare chest, nestled in close. Claude makes short work of Sid’s jacket, yanking it down his arms and tossing it aside. It joins his balled shirt on the floor.

Claude pulls him in and noses along Sid’s jaw; his warm breath fans Sid’s skin. “Baby.”

Sid leans into him.

Claude clicks the hairdryer on and a gust of warmth envelopes them. Claude groans in relief, Sid giggles.

“What’re you laughing at?” Claude demands, playfully digging his fingers into the curved bones of Sid’s ribcage.

Sid lets out a yelp and twists in Claude’s arms. “Let me go!” he squeals.

“Never” Claude whispers in the hollow of his ear, like a promise. He wraps an arm around Sid’s middle, holding him impossibly tighter.

It was across the train station platform, heading west, where Claude first laid eyes on Sid. Claude was on the opposite side, traveling east. It was springtime. Sid was in a pair of thick, denim flare jeans, ridiculously wide at the seams, and a faded black t-shirt. A backpack was clutched to his chest; his eyes skittish – until they landed on Claude. Claude met his gaze, wondering how he was worth a stare. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, mouth dry and his lingering stare insistent. His eyes never left Sid – not until he boarded his train, swallowed by the tunnel. 

Claude takes hold of the dryer with his free hand, guiding it above Sid’s hair. He tunnels his fingers through the wet strands as the dampness slowly gives way to dry, unruly tufts. The sharp scent of Sid’s citrus shampoo fills the air, mixed with fresh rain. Claude nuzzles the back of Sid’s head with the tip of his nose, inhaling another lungful.

Sid ends up limp against him, head lolling to the side as Claude clicks the dryer off. He gently lifts Sid’s chin, pressing a soft kiss to his rosy, pudgy cheek. Sid’s eyes flutter open. He shifts in Claude’s embrace, turning to face him.

“Thank you” he says, a sheepish smile gracing his lips; his hair looks like a bird’s nest. Claude’s gaze drifts down to Sid’s eyes. They were the color of coffee, framed by a deep forest-green under the shadowy light of Claude’s Scooby Doo lamp. The two colors would swirl together at times – like moss creeping over rich soil.

Claude’s eyes float back to Sid’s mouth.

“You’re so fucking cute” Claude says, licking his lips. “C’mere.”

Sid tentatively leans forward and Claude catches his bottom lip – pink and plump – with his mouth, hard and unyielding. Sid cries out and grips Claude’s shoulders. Claude’s arms wrap themselves around Sid’s body, pulling him in. He sucks and bites at Sid’s lips, then traces his tongue along the seams to soothe the ache. Sid’s nails dig into his back as Claude trails his lips down the edge of his chin. Sid’s heart was jack-hammering, he could feel it, but Claude’s own heart slowed – every muscle in his body relaxed, like molasses,  _soft and sweet_. Kissing Sid was like slowly losing consciousness – a spinning, dizzying interlude. His whole vision would turn to darkness; his feet would leave him, his head went round until he was going, going,  _gone_. It terrified Claude, how selfish and reckless he was, how much he needed Sid, loved Sid – more than anything.

This is the longest they’ve been apart since that summer, over a year ago, when Sid nearly drowned.

Sid was at the lake with his buddies, on some fucking boat. They had ventured too far. The deaf skies decided to roar that afternoon, the weather shifted – they lost a handle.

Claude remembers Nick’s voice over the phone, shaky and curt –“It’s Sid. H-he’s asking for you.”

Claude had raced over from work, heedless. Rain filled the gutters and splashed knee-high off the sidewalk as he whipped by. His motorcycle screeched to a halt in the middle of the pebbled road at his careless 180. Rocks skidded in his wake. Onlookers gaped.

Claude’s eyes found Sid right away. He was wrapped in a blanket, body soaked and shuddering. Claude’s blood ran cold at the sight of him. He strode towards Sid, not stopping until both his hands had taken Sid’s face safely between them. Sid gripped his wrists in return, hard as iron. “What happened?”

Nick recounted the events – Sid fell overboard.

Claude felt incensed and ripped apart all at once. Black water sloshed through his insides, snuffing out the light. He was scared shitless,  _of what_ , he didn’t know. “You don’t know how to swim?” he had demanded, utterly baffled. “And you get on that boat without a lifejacket? Are you fucking kidding me right now!?”

Sid started to cry. Claude scowled harder.  Anger welled inside him, starved of an outlet and threatening to boil over. He wanted to grab Sid and  _shake him_. “What the  _fuck_ were you thinking! Do you ever think at all?!”

A helpless scream left Sid’s mouth. The jarring sound ricocheted through Claude’s ears – his heart sank. He wanted to take the words back, to apologize, to trace the tracks of Sid’s tears, but when Claude reached out, Sid slapped his hands away and shoved him –  _hard._  Once. Twice. Claude stood there and took it.

They didn’t talk for four days.

Claude’s insides ached.

On the fifth night, Claude came home, bone tired, to find Sid curled up in his bed, asleep. He stood frozen, staring at Sid as if he didn’t know how to do anything else: the line of his crooked mouth, parted as he snored, the flutter of his eyelashes with each inhale, his round cheekbones, his oversized corduroys, held up by his clunky belt, the beaded chain circling his open neck –

Claude was sick with love.

Sid withdraws, panting. He clutches the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head.

Claude’s eyes blink open to the boy in his lap.

“C-can we?” Sid asks, “please?” Claude tucks his head in the crook of Sid’s neck. “I missed you so much.”

Claude tilts his chin up, peppering kisses to the underside of Sid’s jaw, the skin warm and tender. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

______

Their fingers are twined, arms stretched above Sid’s head as Claude moves faithfully – in and out, in and out. His body covers the length of Sid’s, flushed crimson from the exertion. The balls of Sid’s feet dig into Claude’s back, marking the tanned skin. 

The rainfall outside Claude’s window simmers to a cozy drizzle.

“C-Claude I feel – it feels” Sid whimpers in his ear.

Claude untangles their hands and brings his own down to frame Sid’s face, tilting it up for a hard kiss.

“You’re gonna come, baby” he tells him, brushing a kiss to his temple, damp with sweat. Claude starts pumping his hips.

Sid jerks beneath him, coiling his arms around Claude’s neck, gradually raising his hips to meet the onslaught; Sid’s legs mold themselves to Claude, ankles knit. His body curves upward and his dark eyes screw shut; his mouth falls open and –  _Claude’s about to lose his mind._

“Let go.”

_“Come on, baby.”_

Sid twists his head, a silent scream on his lips. His limbs are bunched, muscles taut. He comes between their bodies and a rush of warmth – slick and wet – covers Claude’s abdomen.

Claude slowly pulls out, still hard as a rock. He smooths a hand through Sid’s hair, cupping the side of his jaw and trailing a thumb across that bottom, pouty lip.

Claude presses a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, giving him time.  

“Sid, baby, talk to me” Claude hums.

Sid sluggishly rolls his head over to face Claude, round eyes flickering. Claude presses their foreheads together, blonde tendrils falling into Sid’s eyes.  He chuckles. “You there?”

Sid just stares back – red-faced, eyes glazed, hair askew.

_____

Claude cleans Sid up with his mouth, head burrowed between his thick thighs. Sid’s right leg trembles as he lifts it, gently curling it around Claude’s neck – keeping him in place; the other slides up Claude’s back, twitching as Claude works his tongue – soft and wet and  _deep._

Sid comes a second time, pain mingled with pleasure; pliant as Claude hauls him into the bathroom.

Claude bears Sid’s weight under the lukewarm spray of the shower. He cups a handful of water, pouring it over Sid’s forehead and face. Water droplets cling to his clumped lashes, glistening like diamonds. Sid sighs, twining his arms around Claude’s neck and pillowing his head on Claude’s shoulder.

As Claude fiddles with the knobs behind Sid, Sid tugs on the soft flesh of his earlobe with sharp teeth. He rises to his tippy-toes, whispering “I love you” in the shell of Claude’s ear.

_____

The sheets are pooled beneath Claude’s waist. His cheek, rough with stubble, rests on the soft skin of Sid’s bare tummy, his body cradled between Sid’s thighs – their legs still tangled.

The morning sun’s golden rays peek through Claude’s curtains; the shards of light an apology for the snivelling rain and angry skies.

There’s a rapping on the front door echoing in his ears. It’s getting closer, louder, more insistent – followed by a rage-filled shout. “SIDNEY!”

Claude’s eyes snap open. He fists the sheets, heaving himself up. Fuck, that’s –

“Sid, wake up.”

Sid stirs and blinks his eyes open – “Huh?”

Another bang fills his ringing ears – “Open this door right now, Sidney!”

Sid’s eyes bulge in horror as he scrambles beneath Claude.

Claude seizes his trousers, wrenching them on as Sid frantically clambers to the foot of the bed, legs dangling off the edge.

Claude snatches Sid’s boxers off the floor, kneeling down to slide them on Sid. He fetches his shirt atop the covers, pulling it over Sid’s bedhead.

Claude cups Sid’s elbows, squeezing them. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Sid jostles him and races to the door, swinging it open.

“Dad!” he cries out, voice wobbly. “What are you doing here?!”

Troy’s face is beat red on the other side of the door, a firm line etched across his mouth, his expression hard as stone. His eyes trail down Claude’s shirtless body then over to Sid’s wrinkled shirt and boxers.

Claude runs a hand over his mouth. He could count his pulse. His breath left capsized in his lungs.

“Get dressed. Get in the car” Troy barks.

“Just let me explain” Sid pleads.

“Get in the car!”

“No!”

“No?” Troy challenges. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, Sidney. You’re going to get your things, apologize to your mother when we get home and shower until whatever it is that happened here is  _bleached_   _off your skin.”_

Claude laughs and it’s an ugly sound. His blood boiled and his fists shook. He wanted to feed that anger. He still hadn’t learned to keep his dumb mouth shut. “We already showered.”

Troy tears his eyes into Claude. Hatred wafts off of him like it’s in his blood – like stagnant, dirty water hoarded in one place for the last two years, waiting to be released. Claude’s his vent – a peice of the scum that’s been wedged beneath his shoe for far too long.

“First day out of the joint and you lure my _underage_ son here?” he grits out, incredulous.

“Dad!” Sid sobs.

“Is that what you do?” Troy pushes.

Claude swallows. His windpipe felt blocked, his lungs suddenly empty. He couldn’t speak but his mind was screaming. He’d never hurt Sid; he’d never pressure him –

 _Never_.

“I want you nowhere near my son” Troy says, grinding his teeth, invading Claude’s space.  “You’re a thug and a punk and a _criminal_.”

“Stop it!” Sid cries out.

Claude’s eyes stung as he stared up at the ceiling, the cracks visible, the paint peeling; He couldn't look at him. His head, it felt so heavy. He felt bent in two, like he was being torn right down through his middle. He looks at Sid; he’s hurt – tears frozen on his beautiful face.

Claude can’t stomach the sight.

He sidesteps Troy and reaches for Sid, cupping his face. His thumbs graze the skin beneath Sid’s eyes, wiping the tears. Claude smiles and shakes his head. “Shh.”

Claude tangles his fingers with Sid’s and kisses Sid’s knuckles. “Just go, okay?”

“No.”

“Don’t cause yourself any more trouble – please” Claude rasps, smoothing his palms up and down Sid’s spine. He presses a kiss to his hair. “I’ll see you later. I promise” he whispers, “I’m gonna come get you.”

Troy grabs a hold of Sid’s arm – “Let’s go.”

Claude retrieves the rest of Sid’s clothes; he helps Sid slip into his jacket and pants. He kisses him again, just a small peck in reassurance; Troy looks away. Then – he’s out the door. Sid’s gone.

Troy hangs back.

“I’m not going to let you see him anymore.”

Claude scoffs, anger returning in a fierce rush. He looks Troy dead in the eye, “You ain’t lettin’ me or not lettin’ me do shit” he spits.

Troy slams the door shut on him.

Claude kicks it, growling –  _seething._

He counts down from ten and climbs into bed, burying his head under the darkness of the pillow. He could pretend it was night. He presses his nose to the sheets – the smell of citrus still lingers.

He wants to cry.

_____

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little blurb - set 7 months before Chapter 1

 

 

______

 

The grey sky heralded rain: it would be coming soon. The wind was raw, prickling Claude’s hands. He scuffed the sole of his sneakers against the glossy, black asphalt. It was nearly five o’clock; the school parking lot was vacant, save for the mustard-coloured jeep cast into the shadow of a tall, mossy pine.

The park adjacent was a scrub of moss and weeds. The old roundabout spins, eerily, ushered on by a puff of wind.

Claude shivers, back resting against the door of his beat-up truck. It had been a couple of months since he traded it in for his motorcycle. Claude’s harebrained heart missed it, _sometimes_ : the gentle purr of the engine, careening down the wide mountain roads – jacked out of his mind, letting his knee skim the ground as he took the bends – it was all so reckless. But that was Claude, in a word.

None of it held a candle to Sid. Claude wanted him to be safe, to feel safe – for however long Sid would have him. Hence the truck: loud and dented and bleached with age.

Soon enough, he hears a set of doors push open. He looks up and _there’s Sid_. Finally.

He comes bustling down the pavement in his jeans and bomber jacket, fingers curled around the strap of his gear bag. It’s stuffed full. His smiles at Claude – those big, round cheeks about to explode with it.

Sid’s suddenly barrelling in, dropping his bag to the ground before leaping into Claude’s arms.  Claude’s back thumps against the frame of the door; his diaphragm spasms as his lungs let out a burning ball of air at the impact.

“Happy Birthday” Sid murmurs, mouth pressed to Claude’s ear. He could feel the warmth of Sid’s body, his chest rising and falling against his own – it was everything.

Claude eases him back, cupping Sid’s face with one hand. He leans in to graze the tip of his nose against Sid’s, gentle and sweet. Claude’s eyes falls to his dusky, pink lips: he catches them in a small, warm kiss. “Thank you” he manages.

He sets Sid down on his feet, letting his fingers card through Sid’s thick hair. It looked freshly cut. “Come on. I’ve got hot chocolate.”

Claude bends forward, heaving Sid’s bag up and tossing it into the open expanse of the trunk. It rattles under the sudden weight.

A torrent of bitter wind pierces Claude’s skin. Fuck did he hate the cold.  

Sid strides around to the passenger seat; the door’s flung wide after a couple of clumsy yanks at the metal handle. Claude winces as it slams shut. Sid was as graceful as a sledgehammer.  

Claude settles in, pulling out the hot thermos from his bag. Curls of steam rise into the air as he twists the cap open. It’s rich and dark; the top swirled with white milk foam. Claude stirs it before pouring Sid a cup. He leans over to place it in his open palms. “S’hot” Claude warns.

Sid slowly brings it to his lips, blowing at the steam. He takes a sip and sighs happily, face relaxed. He turns his body toward Claude, brows pinching, “You’re not having any?”

“Nah” Claude says. It was just sugared water, tasting like those tootsie rolls Claude used to get a shit ton of on Halloween. But Sid loved it.

Claude reaches for his jacket pocket, hand spread like a pale starfish before he digs inside. “Hey, I uh – I’ve got something for you.”

Sid sets his cup down into the placeholder; he looks at Claude expectantly.  

Claude withdraws a folded envelope. It’s creased and wrinkled from the rain. He hands it over to Sid. “Go on.”

Sid opens it slowly, tongue slipping out and thumb digging underneath the seal. Claude gnaws on the inside of his left cheek; there were butterflies in his stomach, his head buzzed. He couldn’t wait to see Sid’s face light up.

Sid tears the flap open, emptying the packet. He stares down at the tickets.

“Tomorrow night” Claude says, clearing his throat. He had bought them a few weeks ago but wanted to surprise Sid on his birthday: concert tickets to see Tim McGraw. Country had high-jacked Sid’s brain – it drove Claude crazy, in the best way. Those late summer nights when he’d lean into him, breath warm in Claude’s ear as he hummed along to the busted radio. Louder and louder until Claude kissed him quiet.

But – Sid slumps, round eyes heavy as they meet Claude’s. His voice tumbles out softly, “How did you get these?”

Claude grins, “I’ve been saving up – for a while.” _Months_ , Claude thinks.

Sid’s expression falters; his mouth’s set in a semi-pout, eyes everywhere – except on Claude _._

He digs his teeth into his bottom lip.

 

_Sid doesn’t believe him._

The silence between them lies like poison on Claude’s skin.

Something ugly starts to churn in him, settling in deep. He casts his gaze down, eyes dark. He tries to hold it in, but he can’t help it.

“You think I stole the money?” Claude asks, viciously rubbing at his stubble, “is that it?” His voice sounds tired and pained and – _resigned_.

Sid clutches his hand tight, “Claude, that’s not –” he swallows thickly, lacing their fingers. “It’s not what I meant.”

Claude pries his hand out of Sid’s grip and stares out the window: splatters of rain begin to stain it, as promised.

 _“What is it then?”_ Claude begs, voice watery.

He fucking hated feeling like this – the residue of his mistakes impossible to remove, like some inedible stain. He loves Sid – _so much_ that sometimes it feels like God’s turned his emotional dials up way too far. But then his brain will fry up, emotions turning ice cold and anxious.

He was trying to change – _he had._ Sid still thought he was some lowlife, _a fucking thief_. It hurt. He worked. He had a job. He’d do anything to make Sid happy. Why doesn’t he know that?

He’s so lost in his thoughts; he barely hears Sid shift and fidget in his seat.

He looks over to find him on his hands and knees, attempting to crawl over the makeshift console – _over to him_. The cheap vinyl is coming unstuck. “What’re – ” Claude starts before Sid’s foot is jammed underneath the armrest. He fumbles, hand knocking over the thermos full of hot liquid. It spills over Sid’s palm –

He cries out, lurching back.

“Fuck!” Claude shouts, grabbing a hold of him. “Baby, baby, c’mere.”

Claude hauls Sid into his lap and reaches for his hand, squeezing it tight. He snatches a handful of crumpled napkins scattered in the backseat and dabs Sid’s hand dry.

Sid’s yellow-green eyes are rimmed with red, lashes thick and damp. Claude discards the serviettes and rubs Sid’s hand between his palms, back and forth, soft and slow. “How’s it?” Claude asks, “we can get ice.”

Sid sniffles, breath hitched. “S’okay.”

Claude lifts Sid’s palm to his mouth, pressing his chapped lips to the centre. Claude’s hurt and his prickling pride – at once slicing and potent – crumbles as Sid burrows into him.  Claude parts his thighs and gathers him in his arms, hands falling down Sid’s back.

He can’t resist Sid. He doesn’t ever want to.

“I’m sorry” Sid murmurs, breath hot against Claude’s cheek.

Claude pulls him into a crushing kiss. Sid parts his lips, letting Claude lick inside. He tangles his arms around Claude’s neck as their tongues meet, warm and wet. Heat curls within him.

Sid sinks into his hold; Claude could hear the sounds of lips smacking, Sid’s big nose alongside Claude’s, the rain pattering, their mouths getting wetter and wetter and –

A laugh suddenly springs from Claude’s throat, stopping and starting. They break apart. “You’re clumsy as _fuck_ , you know that right?”

Sid tucks his face into Claude’s neck as he pants into his skin. He peers up at Claude, “You hate country music.”

Claude presses his cool lips to the top of Sid’s head, where the hair’s soft and thick.

They sit folded together in the driver’s seat, waiting for the rain to halt.

 

______

 

 

The swell of music fills Claude’s ears. The crowd’s _huge_. Sid sways in his arms, back pressed to Claude’s chest as he sings along. It’s so fucking sweet.

Claude tucks his face into the crook of his neck; Sid turns to plant a soft, lingering kiss to his stubble. All it leaves is a little wet mark; a shallow pool of saliva on Claude’s cheek. The warmth spreads through his limbs as he feels a pleasant buzz. Every good thing seemed possible in that moment, likely even.

Their fingers weave as they board the train home afterwards. It’s packed.

It takes a plunge, inching forward at an excruciating pace. It rocks back and forth, its relentless whining and groaning makes Claude nauseous. Sid wrinkles his nose as the stench of cigarette smoke permeates the space. He curls into Claude and presses his nose to Claude’s throat.

Claude wraps an arm around Sid’s shoulders and pulls him close, gently rubbing his arm, “You okay?”

“Little dizzy” Sid answers.

Claude presses a kiss to his temple, “Hold on a sec.” He turns around and scours the crowded space, dozens of people are slumped and half-dead in their seats. His eyes fall to a man with dark hair and glasses, reading a curled page of a newspaper – _at 12 AM._

“Hi, excuse me” Claude says as the man looks up at him. Sid claws at him in protest; Claude ignores him.

“He’s not feeling well” Claude continues, gesturing to the back of Sid’s head, still pressed to Claude’s skin, “do you mind if he takes your seat?”

The man’s on his feet in an instant, “Sure.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it” Claude says as he ushers Sid into the vacant seat. Sid grasps Claude’s hand again and laces their fingers.  Claude drops to the ground in a crouch before him as their eyes meet, “Good?”

Sid looks at him, eyes gummy with sleep; he nods.

When they get back it‘s nearly 1 AM.

Sid heads straight for Claude‘s bed, tearing his clothes off, brazen and bold. His jacket, his sweater, his jeans, his _underwear_ – until there’s nothing left. Just a mess on Claude’s floor.

Claude thinks of the Sid he first met: vulnerable and timid and shy; a little _cagey_ – cheeks constantly flushed pink. Claude asked him out three times before he finally agreed.

But now – _well_.

Claude’s eyes slide over Sid’s naked body.

Sid was half shadow, the muscles on his torso flowing from the light into the dark. His milky skin gleamed as he climbed onto the bed and under the sheets.

“Do – you need water or?” Claude asks, voice rough.

Sid shakes his head. “Just you.”

Well _fuck._

Claude hastily undresses, clothes joining Sid’s on the floor in a heap as he clambers onto the mattress.

He lies down and opens his arms as Sid scales him, big and warm and _bare_. He rests his head underneath Claude’s chin and plants a hand over Claude’s beating heart.

Claude’s hands roam over the planes of Sid’s shoulders, down his shivering spine and over the globes of his ass – the skin soft and plush. He squeezes a cheek with each palm. Sid sighs, nuzzling into the thatch of hair between Claude’s pecs, where it’s thin and sparse.

Sleep pooled on their eyelids.

Sid presses a feather light kiss to his sternum, “I love you, Claude” he whispers.

He’s sound asleep on Claude’s chest within minutes, snoring lightly.

Claude holds him tight and _doesn’t_ think about kissing Sid goodbye a block from his house, or the next time he’ll have to sneak away to see him – or the day it all comes crashing down around his ears. Cutting him in half. Nope.

He closes his eyes and the carousel of thoughts cease; his mind’s blank as it drags him into the oblivion of sleep.

 

_____

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Sid's first time. Sid is 16 and Claude is 19.

 _____

 

Claude’s heart thaws in his chest as he unbuckles Sid’s worn belt. He slips the strap of leather out, letting it drop. The metal buckle clanks against the floor. He pops the button of Sid’s jeans; the zipper comes next. He slides it down, opening up the fabric.

Sid’s splayed out beneath him, nerves frayed. Claude dips his head, pressing a kiss below his belly button, where the skin’s soft and thick.

Sid raises his hips as Claude pulls his jeans. Down his thighs, past his knees – _all the way off._

His boxers are skin-tight, wrapped around his thighs, twined with muscle. Claude’s open palms rove over the smooth skin before him; it’s dusted with hair – here and there, light and scarce. 

Claude curls his fingers underneath the elastic and tugs. Sid’s body quivers beneath Claude’s own; his heart’s pounding against his ribcage, pulse pressed outward – Claude can _feel_ it.  He pulls back.

“Hey, hey” he whispers, voice soft and sweet as he rakes his fingers through Sid’s hair.

Sid lifts his head and presses his lips to the corner of Claude’s mouth. “You’re so quiet” he murmurs. His breath comes in heaves, mouth latched to Claude’s cheek, “Why’re so quiet?”

Sid had a point: Claude was constantly running his mouth.  But not now. He’s fraught, and _desperate._

Sid pulls back and studies Claude’s face; he lifts a hand and gently scratches at Claude’s jaw, rough from a week’s growth. Claude sighs at his tender touch.

The dim light of his lamp brightens Sid’s beady eyes as they dart back and forth between Claude’s. He’s a bundle of nerves, Claude can tell. His hair’s a mess, gelled curls coming undone and falling across his temple; the skin of his cheeks flushed rosy pink, lips raw. He was going to be an _absolute_ stunner, Claude thought, transfixed. Just a few years.

And here he was, gifting Claude with his body – knowing who he was, the things he’d done, and how his parents felt. It was overwhelming – _devastating_ , maybe. Like tentacles coiled around his heart, squeezing tight. Making it difficult to swallow.

He cradles Sid’s face between his palms, the skin of his cheeks baby soft. “We don’t have to do this, _any of it_ , okay?”

Sid shakes his head and lies back down, hauling Claude with him, “S’all I want.”

Claude drags his lips across Sid’s forehead, “Okay.”  He slides down Sid’s body and pulls at his briefs once more, slow and careful, down and _off_ ; he tosses them over his shoulder.

Sid’s completely bare, emerald eyes trained on Claude. His length stands to attention, thick and full and curved, the tip glossy red.  His knees are bent, legs hovering. Claude catches his right foot and presses a kiss to its sole.

Sid gathers him in his arms.

_____

 

 

The spongy tip of his rigid length kisses Sid’s hole, straining and impatient.

Sid’s eyes pop open, “Claude. Claude?”

“What is it, baby?” Claude rasps, mind a frenzy of sparks. He’s so hard he can barely see straight.

Sid smooths his trembling palms across Claude’s broad shoulders and down his back. “N-Nothing.”

He’s sliding in again. Gently, carefully –

“Are you in yet?”

“No.”

“Really?”

Claude huffs, body sagging as he lets his head drop against Sid’s chest.

Sid’s hands cup the back of Claude’s neck, fingers toying with the clasp of Claude’s chain, “Did you know we would be doing this tonight?”

Claude’s eyes fall shut as he fights a torrent of thoughts, “I – no.”

“Did you ever think about it?”

“Well – _yeah._ ”

“About me?”

“Of course.”

“What did you think?”

 “ _Sid_ , for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m sorry – I’m sorry” Sid rambles, “I – ”

Claude lifts his head, pinching Sid’s lips between his thumb and forefinger before he can get another word out. His big, round puppy eyes greet Claude – deep swirls of brown colouring his pupils. He stares up at him, eyes wild.  And _fuck_ if Claude’s heart doesn’t bloom from its root.

“Am I ruining it?”

“Fuck no” Claude says, easing his hold. He leans forward to kiss a trail across Sid’s cheek; he presses his mouth to the delicate skin beneath Sid’s earlobe, “Be yourself. I love you.”

Sid brings their mouths together in a soft, electric kiss. The smell and taste of Sid floods his senses; their breaths mingle. Claude’s tongue darts out, pressing against the seam of Sid’s lips. His mouth parts in invitation and Claude delves in – hot and _dirty_. He reaches below and spreads Sid’s thighs wide, brazenly hoisting Sid’s leg up and over the cap of his shoulder. Sid stutters, a hot blush searing his cheeks; it’s fucking adorable. Claude _smirks._

He fists his length, delicately casing himself in Sid’s warmth.

 

_____

 

 

“More.”

Claude lifts him. “Up, up. Come on.”

Sid mewls, speared to the hilt, buried by Claude. They sit facing each other, mouth to mouth, with Sid’s legs wrapped around him. He claws at Claude’s back, rocking back and forth. “More.”

_Jesus fuck._

Claude cradles Sid’s ass in his palms, spreading his cheeks _wide_ so he can feel every inch _._ Their moans bleed into one another, heartfelt and yearning. Sid’s body starts to writhe, suddenly – _uncontrollably_ – in the grip of a fierce orgasm, and then –

He _stills_. Frame like a taut wire. Claude watches with a lust-filled gaze as Sid _comes_ , body wracked with tremors – of pleasure and pain. His eyelids flutter, his mouth’s loose. He cries out, hanging onto Claude for dear life.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Sid’s ragged breaths fill the hot air, body limp and starved of oxygen. He whimpers, tucking his face into Claude’s neck – both of them bathed in his come.

“Sid, _baby_. I need to  – ”

He lays Sid back down and starts to ease out; Sid cages him in, legs locking around Claude’s back. “Don’t” he warns.  He stretches his arms back, body arching above the bed. He braces one palm, then the other, against the wall, spreading his legs – _letting Claude take him_.

Claude groans at the sight, loud and unabashed.

Then – _he thrusts in again_ , balls drawn tight and dick scraping against the inside of Sid’s sensitive walls as Sid sobs. Once. Twice. And he’s coming, shaft pulsing and breath dying in his lungs. He fills the condom up, pressing his slack mouth to Sid’s warm, plump lips thereafter.

Nothing’s left – just burnt muscles, rapid heartbeats, and flushed cheeks.

 

_____

 

Claude feels a set of lips against his right eyelid, then the other. A peck to his eyebrow, a kiss against his scar, “Wake up.”

His heart thumped in accordance with his slow, steadied breaths. His back ached against the hard floor – apparently they had migrated from Claude’s bed.

A sliver of sunlight peeks through the drawn curtains.

Sid kisses a trail down his neck to the raised muscles of his chest, slow and sweet, “Claude, wake up.”

Claude grunts and tries to roll over. Sid pins him, body warm and naked atop Claude’s own, cocooned in a bundle of blankets.

He opens his eyes to Sid’s tousled hair and beaming smile. Claude loved that smile. The way Sid’s lips lifted upward. The way his one dimple crinkles. The warm glow his happiness gives – he’s a ray of fucking sunshine. He’s Claude’s.

Claude lifts a hand and caresses Sid’s cheek, “How’re you feeling?”

“Hungry.”

Before Claude can respond, Sid pulls him into a swift kiss: fiery and passionate and – completely sloppy. 

They pull apart; shaky, shallow breaths fill the space. Sid snickers, yanking the duvet up and over their bodies.  Sid’s hands work their way around Claude’s frame, feeling each crevasse, each line along his physique, his touch full of love and wonder. “I want you every day.”

Claude chuckles, “You little horn-dog.”

Claude feels a set of teeth sink into his flesh; he rolls them over. “Come on. Let’s eat. What can I make you?”

“Donuts.”

Claude laughs, pressing his forehead to Sid’s. “Okay.”

Twenty minutes later, Sid’s settled between Claude’s thighs – a box of fresh donuts in his lap.

He takes a bite of another one: “Looks like this one’s gone bad” he says.

Claude looks up from his phone just as Sid smears the red jelly filling down Claude’s nose, over his pale pink lips, to the knob of his chin. A wily little smile curves his mouth. He’s like a fire imp in an inferno.

Claude rolls his eyes in faux annoyance and stares heavenward, half biting his lip – cherry on his tongue. Sid turns in his hold and straddles him – licking the jelly off Claude’s nose and mouth and cheeks. Claude huffs, lips shaping a gentle heart. He catches Sid’s mouth in a dawdling kiss – he wants this, wants _Sid,_ every day of his life.

They spend the rest of the morning wrestling in Claude’s bed and getting tangled in Claude's sheets. Then they nap; limbs heavy and bodies curled together, like pieces of a puzzle.

He swaddles Sid to his chest, tight and sure – they still have time.

 

_____

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1 month preceding Chapter 1 - (warning for some violence!)

_____

 

Sid curves back, his open palm curling around the top of the stall. He grips it _tight,_ rutting against the clothed mound of Claude’s erection, tucked beneath the denim of Claude’s jeans. He yanks at Claude’s baseball cap in a ravenous haze, tossing it to the floor as he combs his fingers through Claude’s curls. His fingertips like matches.

They were at Billiards, shooting pool with Scott and Todd.

Well, _had been._

It was Friday night.

The smell of stale beer had filled the pub, mingling with perfume and body odour; it stuck to the furniture and clung to Claude’s skin. The cheering and whooping and hollering had wavered. The game was nearly over, the summer sky dark. The sallow light of the street lamps trickled in through the windows.

Claude lit up the place like a lava lamp: smile wider than the golden gates, malty beer on his tongue –talking smack like it was his day job. Sid stayed nestled against his chest, his favourite spot, sipping on grape soda. Eyes on fire beneath the pot lights as he tilted his head back to meet Claude’s half lidded stare.

At some point, Sid dragged the heel of his palm down Claude’s chest, slow – _deliberate_. Then down further, rotating his wrist at the last second to _cup_ him – barefaced with pure want. Claude’s synapses jumped like beans in a tin can.

And well, that was the last straw.

Claude’s mouth stretches wide, wider than it should, fighting between grinning and kissing.

Sid’s thighs squeeze his sides as he continues to shove onto Claude’s bulging length. Sid claims his rough, thin lips in another honeyed kiss, jump starting Claude’s heart. His arms are hooked around Sid’s middle with Sid’s shirt rucking up with each thrust.

“ _Baby_ ” Claude chokes, mouth latched to Sid’s neck. Adrenaline coursed through his veins while Sid’s heart beat crazily – pounding, banging, trying to get out. They needed to hurry _the fuck up_ before someone came in. “You close?”

Sid lets out a frustrated whine, head thudding back. A sweet pout graces his lips, “I can’t.”

“Arms around me. C’mon.”

Sid frees his iron grip from the top of stall and wraps both arms around Claude’s neck, pulling him close. He grinds their hips together in earnest, curving down so their noses brush. The swell of their lengths meet, chafing fiercely; the friction red hot.  

Their bodies move together; struggling, yet _unyielding_.  Sid’s sandals slip between his toes, meeting the tiled floor. Closer and closer, and then –

A shot of bliss surges from his quaking thighs right to his toes. The feeling rocks Claude’s head backwards; his vision’s a muddled blur, heart a fiery wreck.

Dampness pervades him.  

The whirring silence of the men’s room fills the space, bringing him back.

“Claude” Sid pants.

He meets Sid’s eyes – his pupils are _blown_ , green swallowed by black. He kisses Claude, messy and open-mouthed.

“Baby, are you – ” Claude slurs, blood flowing like a toiling river. He tries again, shaking off the daze, “Did you come?”

Sid hums, pressing his mouth to Claude’s hairline; his breath’s warm and wet, curling against Claude’s sweaty skin.

 Claude eases him onto his feet, body slinking down Claude’s frame. His legs wobble.

“Okay?” Claude asks, rubbing slow, smooth circles into Sid’s back.

Sid reaches up to thumb across Claude’s temple, the skin rosy. He catches a strand of hair and tucks it behind the soft curve of Claude’s ear; a lingering kiss to the apple of his cheek comes next. Claude’s heart thrums with it. Sid parts his lips, “Sticky.”

“ _Huh?_ ”

“I’m _sticky._ ”

Claude rolls his tongue, stifling a smile.

Sid continues to map his face: his short stubby lashes, his nose, dotted with freckles, the invisible line of his brow. The pads of his fingers begin to stroke the coarse hairs of Claude’s chin and jaw. “I love your stubble” he says, sighing adorably. 

Claude cups Sid’s face, those stubborn cheeks pinching in his firm hold. His eyes inch upward.

“I fucking love _you_.”

_____

 

“Sure you can’t stay with me tonight?” Claude asks, prepping the tip of his cue with more chalk. The pool table’s covered in a swirling trail of dust. The place is a quiet hum of conversation, a smattering of bodies left, milling about. A group of college kids huddle in the far corner, all dressed in hoodies with jeans hung low.

Sid leans in, pressing a smacking kiss to Claude’s cheek, “Yup. Have to study.”

Claude grouses, sticking his tongue out at him. “Well go get somethin’ to eat.”

Meanwhile, Scott drags the triangular rack to the foot of the table, setting up another game, “Sid, you in?”

Sid shakes his head, “I’m gonna get a burger.”

“Ah, you and me then, G’.”

“Let’s do it” Claude says, taking another chug of his Labatt Blue. He catches the hem of Sid’s shirt with his free hand, reeling him in. He presses a quick kiss to the back of his head, then another, “We’ll head out soon” he whispers. Sid turns, brushing his lips against Claude’s jaw, “’Kay.”

Sid moseys off toward the bar in short, strutting steps, flip-flops dragging. He ducks, disappearing behind a guy with his feet a shoulder width apart.

Scott watches him leave then turns to Claude, eyes narrowed. “Were you two _boning_ in the bathroom?”

Claude barks a cough, beer spraying out of his mouth – some of it back into his glass.

A low rumble of laughter follows. Scott shakes his head, sizing up his cue. He draws it back, bashing the ball hard. It spins clumsily off to the side.

Claude muffles his laughter, rounding the table.

They shoot back and forth as the cluster of balls disperse. Claude dominates, even as his finesse wavers at the late hour – mixed with the sweet buzz of alcohol.

The game nears an end, with the coloured balls slowly clearing the green felt. Claude’s up. With his grip relaxed and cue on level, he leans forward and sinks the 8-ball in the side pocket, neat and swift. Claude cuts the shameless bragging short. He snatches his coat off the hook, “Gonna go check on Sid.”

Scott nods, “I’ll meet you guys up front” he says, gesturing to the restroom.

_____

 

He finds Sid perched on a stool with his arms resting on the slab of granite; his feet are crossed, he’s staring straight ahead. Claude makes his way over to him, draping his jacket over the back of Sid’s shoulders. “ _Hey.”_

Sid nearly topples over, startled.

“Hey, hey, it’s me” Claude appeases, smoothing his palms down Sid’s arms, “easy”; Sid’s skin’s feathered in goosebumps, pulse hammering underneath. His burger sits half-eaten, fries strewn across the plate in a mess of ketchup; an untouched milkshake sits a few inches away, the whipped cream schlepping down the rim of the glass. Sid looks up at him, fingers laced and face anxious.

Claude tilts his face up, “What’s wrong?”

Sid hops off the stool and tucks himself into Claude, “Can we go?”

Claude leans back, poring over his features. His face was the colour of a moonbeam, his shoulders hiked up. “Sid, what’s wrong?” he asks again, suddenly nervous.

“Nothing.”

“ _Sid.”_

“Just drop it” he snaps, “ _I’m fine.”_

“No you’re not” Claude says with a sharp rebuff, “you're jittery _as fuck_ , you haven’t touched your food, and – ” Claude clutches him, “ _you’re shaking._ ”

“I’m cold.”

Claude stomach was starting to knot.

“Sid. Please.”

“I’m – it’s stupid.”

“ _What is?_ ”

“Some guy” Sid says slowly, unfurling. “He came over and – _he was weird_. Made me uncomfortable.” Sid pushes Claude’s head down so their eyes meet. Claude feels the colour drain from his face. “But it’s fine” Sid continues, almost frantic.  He’s breathing hard, ribs like steel traps. “I told him to leave me alone and he did.”

Sid nuzzles his nose into Claude’s throat. Silence falls between them, thick and jagged.

“Claude?”

“He try something?” Claude asks, tone blunt.

“He bought me that milkshake.”

Claude glances over at it, “Is he still here?”

Sid nods, “By the jukebox.”

Claude peers over Sid’s head. And there he stands, slumped against the far wall – _watching them_. Still ogling at Sid. Claude feels sick with it. It was almost midnight. What if Sid was here by himself? What if the creep tried to follow him home? He was older. Eyes rigid, face stony.

Claude’s palms begin to sweat. Adrenaline floods him like it's on an intravenous drip – right into his blood at full pelt.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Claude! No!”

Sid’s hand appears, tightening on Claude’s wrist, white knuckled, strong.

Claude fights it off, tearing his arm free, repeating the words, “It’s not okay,” over and over again. Voice slipping with each utterance. “I’m fucking _nauseous_ Sid – just ” he pauses, resting his head in his hands, jaw wired shut; he looks back up at him, gritting the words out, “you sitting here alone while he’s five feet away, _gawking_ at you?”

Sid’s eyes widen.

“Why didn’t you come back to me?” Claude asks, voice rough.

“I wanted to calm down first.”

Claude shakes his head; his skin crawls. “Just wait here. Trust me.”

_____

 

Claude stalks over to him, bypassing a crowd of teenagers. Claude’s getting closer, the man’s form clearer: skin the colour of dirty snow, sharp cheekbones that gave him a skeletal look. His eyes are turned inward. Claude was right – _he was older._ Mid to late twenties.

“You done staring at him?” Claude snarls, in way of greeting.

He’s nose to nose with him now.

The man grunts a smile. He stares at Claude with cool grey eyeballs, rusted into place. The leer disappears, his face suddenly blank, “You don’t want to mess with me.”

“And who are you?” Claude gauges, French accent coming on thick, “some guy with a _fucked up_ face?”

Claude’s words don’t seem to register. “Get lost” he continues, words biting, “ _go home.”_

He’s a movie on mute.

The guy tilts his head sideways in a casual assessment. Except it’s not casual at all. His eyes walk from Claude’s hairline to his feet, then back up again. “What’s he doing with _you_?” he probes, eyes brimming with fascination.

Claude’s heart’s suddenly in his mouth. He swallows it, laughing. Pushing the hurt back down. It’s like a newly sprung leak. _Who the fuck was this prick?_ Begging to get his face bashed in and his nuts clipped. “You have a nice night with your right hand” Claude says, in lieu of an answer, before turning his back.

He swivels, lifting his foot to take a step forward. It doesn’t come.

What does come is a backhanded _blow._ A _blow_ to the back of the head.

Pain blazes in Claude’s skull at the impact – _white hot._ He turns just as the guy’s clammed fist, quick and potent, collides with Claude’s right eye. He falls back, body hitting the ground like a sack of bricks. He hears a shriek, it might be his. His eyes water, his insides were in chaos. Black mists swirled at the edges of his mind; _he cries out,_ overwhelmed.

The feeling ebbs, his consciousness floating in a thick static. And then finally – _all is black._

…

He comes to, chest gently rising and sinking with each shallow breath. Soft murmurs drift in and out of his ears. His eyes blink open to Sid’s face, looming above his own. He was just across the bar. _How did he get to Claude so fast?_

His skull’s cradled in the warmth of Sid’s palms. Sid’s ghost-white; splotches of red colour his cheeks. His nose runs.

Claude lifts a hand to trace the familiar planes of his face. Sid lets out a soft cry and latches his lips to Claude’s.  Claude sucks in a breath. Sid’s tears fall into his parted mouth, cold and salty. The brutal ache in his head _burns._

“G’, you okay!?”

They break apart as Scott crouches down beside them.

Claude’s mouth cracks open, “Where is he?” he says, voice like gravel as he tries – _and fails_ – to sit upright. “What happened?”

“Easy, man. They took his ass outta here. Cops are outside.”

“I didn’t even see him” Claude says, mouth dry. “Fucker punched me with my back turned.” He presses the flat of his palm to the floor, slowly heaving himself up.  Everything was slow and _warbled_ , like being stuck underwater. He turns to Sid, “You okay?”

“He nearly clawed the guy’s face off” Scott interrupts.

Claude’s brows knit together, “ _Who?_ ”

“Sid.”

Claude’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. He whirls on Sid: eyes roving over his face, his neck, his arms, “ _Fuck Sid_ ” he growls, hauling him in. He frames his face, angling it this way and that – wedged between his own shaky palms. “Does it hurt anywhere?”

Sid just glares at him, stubborn as a fucking mule.

“I’m sorry” Claude whispers, hands slipping down to cup Sid’s shoulders. “I’m sorry for goin’ over there. I – I was fuckin’ _livid_. I couldn’t stand it, okay? Seeing you like that.” But it was just another excuse to Sid’s ears, an exit ticket; Claude had dragged him into a violent fucking mess.

Sid weaves his fingers through Claude’s knotted hair, “How’s your head?”

“It’s okay – it’s perfectly fine” Claude lies. He glances up: there were still people around – assessing him with a mix of mild concern and wariness. Well, he was still lying there like an idiot. “Let me take you home” he tells Sid, “ _please._ ”

_____

 

Sid refuses to leave him – Scott drops them off outside Claude’s apartment. The sky’s pitch black; the night humid.

Sid crowds him against the wall as the door slips shut. He tugs and jerks at Claude’s shirt. He’s still angry.

Claude reaches back, yanking the fabric up and over his body. He tosses it aside and lifts Sid up as Sid loops his legs around him. “Shower or bath?” Claude mumbles into Sid’s mouth.

“Shower” Sid says, mouthing at Claude’s bare skin. “ _I want you in me_.”

The hot water sends a current through Claude’s tingling scalp, trickling down his back, darkening his tresses. Steam fills the tiny space. Sid kisses up his back, to the nape of his neck, teeth digging into the bone of his shoulder. Claude turns and hoists him up again, fisting the base of his dick as he lines it up, filling Sid’s hole.

Sid keens, curling his arms around Claude’s neck, taking in every inch of him. Claude grunts with each thrust, slow and gentle and deep – thighs flexing. Their eyes lock beneath the spray and amidst the fog. Sid’s hair’s soaked – matted to his forehead as he pants; round cheeks kissed pink. Claude presses Sid’s back against the tiled wall, still moving in him, tenderly – _relentlessly_.

The pleasure of it – the love that drives it – pushes a tear from Sid’s eye. It creeps down his cheek. Claude catches it with his mouth.

Sid comes first; Claude thereafter.

Claude sets the alarm before they drift off; he falls asleep with his head on Sid’s chest, his other half; Sid’s warm embrace lulls him to sleep.

 

 

The same five words rattle around in his skull; a continuous and crippling loop, invading his dreams: " _What's he doing with you?"_

_____

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events leading up to Sid and Claude's first date! We will be moving forward after this one..

 

In the end, he ends up going. Just to see Sid. It’s more than a little hopeless, and _stupid_. But no one’s ever accused Claude of being smart.

It’s half past nine as he pulls up to Todd’s house – _Todd’s parents’ house_. The berried shrubs are in full bloom as they line the cement walkway. Claude tips his head back to a rectangle of light flowing from one of the leaded windows, higher up and brighter than the rest – probably Todd’s room. Soft laughter escapes from the darkened door; it’s slightly ajar.  He could make out a handful of silhouettes milling about. Outlines of black bouncing in chatter. The liquor was probably making everything seem funnier.  

The night sky was quiet, a waning moon its only source of light. The air was cool, _comforting._

Claude’s perched behind the oversized fairing of his motorcycle, helmet held between his palms, traded in for his snapback. He inches forward; the fingers of his left hand curl around the chromed handlebar.

He wonders if Sid’s inside.

_____

 

It’s muggy.

There’s a small crowd of people in the den, flowing into the living room. It’s not overwhelming, for which Claude is grateful.  

A welcoming fire burned in the fireplace casting long shadows over the rug. The stereo hummed. Under the small eating table is a pack of beer. Claude’s eyes drift toward the couches: fully occupied. Nick’s curled up with some girl; her pink tank-top dips low, breasts protruding from her rib-cage, threatening to spill out; her enthused mouth chattering away. Like a pop tart on acid.

The armchair adjacent was something like a creamy leather marshmallow. Claude blinks, suddenly sleepy.

He paces toward the kitchen, greeting a couple of guys on the way. There’s a bucket of popcorn on the laminate countertop, bottles of cola, more beer, and a bowl full of curled yellow chips – the usual crap.

Claude scans the room. Nick was here, which meant that – _Sid._

Sid’s here.

He’s standing by the back door that leads to the patio; body slumped forward. His chin’s resting on the taped knob of his hockey stick. He’s talking to some guy. Claude’s seen him before – what was his name? Kent? _Kris._

Sid splutters a laugh, humour bubbling in him, shoulders juddering. Claude could feel it flow through his own body somehow _,_ like an eddying current. He barely knew Sid, so why did it feel like there were lions in his chest? Roaring and clawing.

Even after they’d officially met; words tumbling from Sid’s mouth, dropping so fast Claude could barely catch them. His nervous laugh, the sound like a braying donkey. His cheeks, red as a beetroot.

Even after Claude took his shot; a cacophonous thrumming in his chest.

Even after Sid had said no – _twice._

He’s been staring for too long. Lost in some fucking daze. He blinks, he closes his eyes. They crack open to find Sid staring back.  

He’s in a loose T, paired with basketball shorts falling just below the caps of his knees. The smile’s fallen from his mouth. There’s a look in his eyes Claude can’t place – like he’s just taken a frying pan to the face. His lip buckles upward and Claude’s stomach sinks. He tears his eyes away and bolts, so fast that Claude’s sure he’s left a blurred trail of colour in his wake.

…

The water moves softly around Claude’s outstretched fingers. His face is soaked. Drops of icy water coming together – running into his eyes, dripping from his chin, stealing the heat from his pores. He meets his reflection in the suspended mirror: large, oval, elegant; frame encircled by threadlike strands of silver, projecting a strange sense of continuity. Claude couldn’t help but think of his own at home: small and rectangular.  Rimmed in thick white plastic, the kind of tacky shit you’d see at a dollar store.

Another figure slides into view, just beyond the circle of Claude’s shoulder.

_Kris._

He lingers by the bathroom door, arms crossed, impetuous.

Claude waits for it.

 

 

“He’s _sixteen_.”

Claude drags his shirt up, rubbing his face dry as the fabric dampens in his hold. He throws his cap back on and turns to face him.

“ _What?”_

“Sid” he says in way of answer, his rigid mouth twitching. His thick black hair was combed back, tucked neatly behind the flaps of his ears, a stark contrast to Claude’s own fractious mess of tangles, mushed beneath his ratty hat.

“And?” Claude throws back, haughtily. He’s suddenly on edge. What was he implying? That Claude was some slinking, leering creep? That Sid – _or anyone_ – was just a body to him?

Scott once compared Claude to a _puppy_ : loyal, playful – a pent-up little fucker; someone that couldn’t be left alone for too long _._ Claude guesses he should be ashamed of that somehow. His dad had been; Claude was supposed to be tougher.

“He’s never been with anyone” Kris says quietly, black eyes like stones as they drill into Claude; it sounds like an obscure, half-baked warning. Like he’s too scared to tell Claude to fuck off.

Claude’s expression softens.

His anger starts to melt – like a cube of sugar in hot water. Sid was sweet, sure; or maybe _naïve_ was the right word, _but_ – none of it matters; Nothing matters right now – just the beating of Claude’s lone heart; nothing less, nothing more. He braces his shoulders, “I’m not someone you gotta worry about” he tells Kris.

He shoulders past him, making his way out the door, ready to abandon this situation, this dialogue – all of it.

“He likes you” Kris tells him, pushing Claude’s buttons – _every last one._

“Nah” Claude says dryly, body paused, inside and out. His gaze is fixed on the spiralling staircase just outside the door; patches of its polished wood shine under the soft light.

_Sid doesn’t want him._

“See you around” he tells Kris, passing through the frame of the door, and out of sight.

_____

 

Claude takes another drag of his beer, trying to soothe his tongue, gone fuzzy from the blunt he’d smoked. His back rests against the wrought-iron rail of the balcony, idling. It juts out over the garden below, a clutter of shrubbery beneath a black sky.

He’s all alone.

He should get going.

He rests his eyes, just for a second; just until the gentle breeze dithers, tousling the tufts of hair at his nape. His brain’s still.

Slowly, his lids part to a pair of eyes; they were like a multi-coloured fabric – of green, hazel, brown. They were Sid’s.

“Hi” he says.

“ _Hey_ ” Claude says back, fumbling with the mouth of his bottle.

Sid smiles at him; it’s a small little thing, not scared but not relaxed enough for it to be genuine.

He’s _sixteen_ , Claude reminds himself, he’s inexperienced; he’s _shy_ , like one of those mimosa plants: a simple touch prompting the leaves to fold up and in. That was Sid.

Claude pushes off the railing, stepping into his space. He sucks in a sharp lungful of air, “One date. _Just one_ ” he breathes out; it feels like his body’s just emerged from the bottom of a lake – the words rushing out of his mouth before his brain can catch up.

Tersely, Sid’s eyes flicker away, just a couple of centimeters, then back again. He tips his head back as their gazes lock. His hands are clasped tightly in front of his stomach as he fiddles with his knuckles, knitting his fingers in and out of each other.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” Claude says, lips stretching into a wide grin. It takes a second or two for the answer to sink in, even though it is right before his eyes, larger than life.

“Yes” Sid answers. _Green._ His eyes were green.

“You sure?” Claude asks again – just _because_.

A laugh escapes Sid’s mouth, softly wending its way through the cold air. He nods, the points of his cheeks bright pink. “I’m sure, Claude.”

He butchers the pronunciation.

Claude couldn’t care less.

_____

 

Their first date had been cracking sidewalks on a chilly afternoon. Watery sunshine had wriggled its way past the clouds.

They had made several loops of Sid’s block; how many, Claude couldn’t recall.

On the first few circuits the talk had been shy, almost becoming familiar with one other – only for Sid to inch back, _just a little,_ each time. The brisk scent of Sid’s cologne packed the space between them, something lemony and discreet – maybe it was his detergent, or his hair gel. Claude couldn’t tell. Another few circuits and Claude learned more and more about him: he had a little sister, who was eight years younger; his dad, who wore pride like a parapet; Sid’s own love of hockey and anything chockfull of sugar.

Claude offered himself over in return: his childhood, spent at the basketball courts. His grandpa, who lived for music, the only thing that kept him sane after the war – who single-handedly raised Claude since the age of seven.

Slowly but surely, their fingers become entwined in a loose grip. On the final loop around, Claude had pulled Sid close, halting all those anxious thoughts dead in their tracks, “You don’t gotta be afraid of me,” he had whispered into the hollow of Sid’s ear, “ _alright?_ ”

Sid had nodded, rising to press his lips to the hinge of Claude’s jaw, soft and fleeting.

Claude had felt something. Something big. That fate had just handed them a dangerous, _difficult_ hand.

_____

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

_____

 

 

The crisp white sheets and cool velvet pillows were as soft as a cloud. He lay with Sid atop him in the hot swirling air; his busy mouth peppering kisses all over Claude’s sun-burned skin, lined in love. So focused, so intense – _so sweet_.

They were at the Fairmont. Claude had booked a room for a pretty penny. It had been over two weeks since the blow-up and he’s seen less and less of Sid: forced to miss his eighteenth birthday, his games, his touch, his warmth. Sid could comfort Claude without ever opening his mouth. And, well –

At least Troy wouldn’t find them here.

Claude’s hands skim the knobs of Sid’s spine, one by one; his toes are curled, a crackling fire licking his insides as Sid rides him. His face scrunches up, nose twitching as he draws back and shifts about. He’s trying to get the angle right – an adorable little frown curving his lips.

“Can’t find it, _huh_?” Claude teases, lips twisted into a half smirk. Sid scowls at him.

“C’mere” he says, raising his hips to tip Sid forward.

Sid arms flail like a windmill before he finds purchase, bracing both palms against the jut of Claude’s collarbone, “ _Hey!_ ”

“Sorry” Claude murmurs, absently, before joining their lips in a closed mouth kiss. “Can I try something?”

Sid nods and Claude’s heart clamps, just a little _._ Sid’s trust in him – immediate, implicit, without explanation – it was akin to his love.

Claude frames his face, hauling him down so their foreheads brush. Claude stokes his full cheek with the rough pad of his thumb, “Lips on mine” he orders, “hold on tight.”

Sid obliges, closing his soft mouth over Claude’s as Claude gathers the flesh of Sid’s ass – thick, round – a cheek in each palm. He pries them apart with gentle fingertips as Sid sucks in a harsh breath, then a little more, so Sid can really feel the burn.

Claude bends his knees and spreads his thighs, planting both feet on the thick comforter. He seeks refuge inside Sid’s warmth once more, elevating his hips – using the base of the mattress as a spring – as he starts to snap upward.

Sid’s black eyes shoot open, an endless depth of ink, “ _There!_ ” he cries out, uninhibited. “ _Claude!_ Right there!” There’s sparks going off in Sid’s brain, burning with impatience. He looks like one of those pop-eyed toys at the fair; _he’s_ _so fucking adorable_ – terrified that Claude’s going to stop.

“Shh” Claude placates, as he picks up the pace, delivering rapid, firm thrusts targeting Sid’s prostate; tiny little stabs with the tip of his slick cock, right against the spot that’s scorching Sid from the inside out, the spot that’s got his nerves singing in bliss. Soon enough, Claude’s _jackhammering_ into him – stretching him at will, massaging his insides – as Sid shouts and shouts and _shouts._

The sound’s muffled, _somewhat_ , by their joined mouths, though it pulsates through Claude’s whole body, passing through like a warm ocean wave. Skin slaps against skin in the quiet of the room, merciless: the sound of their bodies coming into contact _over and over_ again. Sid’s coiled into a tight ball, clinging to Claude’s shoulders, body pumped full of endorphins – _pumped full of Claude._

Claude’s thighs begin to ache, an exquisite pain that soaks right into his bones. He knows it’s only a matter of time.

Their lips unfasten as Sid burrows his nose into the juncture of Claude’s neck; a final cry escapes his parted mouth as he comes: Claude’s name.

Sid drops his full weight onto Claude with a thud, chest heaving like there isn’t enough air in the room. Everything’s fuzzy; Claude’s heart beats furiously as he fights to re-inflate his lungs. Sid’s outstretched hand wanders about until it finds Claude’s; he clutches it tight.

Claude flips them over so Sid’s on his back. Sid reaches up to trace Claude’s lips with the tip of his finger, dazed as _fuck._

Claude slinks down the length of Sid’s body, bullying his way between Sid’s thighs. They fall open as Claude dips his head. The furl of Sid’s hole peeks out at him: it’s loose, twitching in-sync with Sid’s heartbeat. Claude rests his head against the meat of Sid’s thigh, pressing a kiss to the heated skin before making his way back up.

“Good?” Claude asks, cupping his cheek.

“So good” Sid slurs, voice gone raw. His eyes are still dark. His jet black hair cascades across his forehead, casting shadows against his flushed skin. “You know what else is _so_ good?”

“What?” Claude says, mind still hazy.

Sid lifts his head, nosing down Claude’s hairline to the outline of his ear. He presses his mouth into the tiny hollow space, whispering “Your _dick_.”

Claude presses the seam of his lips together to keep from laughing out loud. Sid’s loopy and disoriented. His heavy eyelids a fraction too slow to blink, his irises too stationary. His brain suffering a short circuit.

“Yeah?” Claude says, eyes twinkling as he humours him.

“ _Yeah_ ” Sid hums back. His eyes flicker around, drinking in Claude’s face, lips forming a lazy grin, “You’re so _sexy_ ” he purrs.

Claude’s chest starts to rumble, face muscles growing tight. He loses the fight as he tucks his face beneath Sid’s chin, unrestrained mirth spluttering from his mouth, like a bust water mane.

“You and your _big_ dick” Sid continues; his slow, languid stream of consciousness still flowing. Still _completely_ out of it. He giggles.

Then, he proceeds to _chomp_ on Claude’s right earlobe.

“FUCK!”

 

_____

 

After they finish eating, Sid leads Claude back to the bed, where they lay curled together. Sid’s head rests on the edge of Claude’s shoulder as he fiddles with Claude’s chain, searching for the pendant.

“How was your game?” Claude asks, pressing a kiss to the top of Sid’s head, “your dad ream out the ref again?”

Sid stays quiet, tracing the jade-green adornment with his thumb. It was Claude’s grandfather’s.

Claude gives him a light pinch, “I was just kiddin.’”

“He didn’t come.”

Claude straightens up as Sid lifts his head. Their eyes meet, and Claude, well he just stares at him, open mouthed, feeling his insides shrink. Because _what?_ His brain formulated no thoughts other than to register that he was shocked. Troy’s never missed any of Sid’s games – _not one_ – not ever. Claude closes his mouth, then looks at his toes before glancing back up to catch Sid’s countenance.

Sid’s eyes become glacier green under the sudden sheen of water. He turns away. Claude’s hands move of their own accord as they frame Sid’s face, holding him in place, pulling him back into Claude’s orbit, “Sid, what happened?”

“He fought with me.”

“About what?” Claude rasps, even though he already knows the answer. The anxiety of it sits on Claude like a pillow over his mouth and nose. His legs suddenly felt weak. He didn’t want to do this, to tear them apart, be the reason that –

“You” Sid answers, blinking feverishly. “I told him not to come. I don’t want to be around him.”

“Sid, no” Claude says, sliding back against the furrowed sheets as panic settles in. A breeze blows in through the cracked window. The flower market was just a short walk away from the hotel – florets sweetening the night air.

Sid shifts to sit upright, waiting for Claude to explain, his eyes like saucers, brimful of unshed tears. The guilt feels like ice lodged in Claude’s guts. “That’s your _dad_ , Sid. He loves you. You _should_ be around him” Claude says, casting his eyes toward the cream-coloured ceiling. He bites his bottom lip, then lets the flesh drag out. “I wasn’t around my dad” he says, words laden with despair “look at the fuckin’ way I turned out.”

“Your dad was a dead-beat” Sid snaps back, fiercely, through narrowed eyes, “and a _homophobe_.”

“Look, Sid, I just – ” Claude starts, “I – _what did he say?_ ”

Sid meets his gaze, but it’s as if he’s looking right through Claude’s skull, as if he’s transparent. “A lot of things. That you’re no good. That I needed to see other people, experience different things.”

“Oh.”

“ _Yeah._ ”

“Well, I guess – I guess I see his point” Claude says. An array of words – biting and nasty – deluge his brain:

_You’re a thug and a punk and criminal._

_What’s he doing with you?_

_He’s sixteen._

_…_

 

“What?”

Claude shakes his head. Sid could be so fucking naïve. “Think about, Sid. You ever been with anyone else?” Claude doesn’t know where he’s going with this – but the voices in his head, all bleating pointedly into the night, _all at once_ – are too much to handle.  

“You ever been on a date before me?” Claude prods, unkindly, eyes stinging as he lets his heart yank in and out of his chest like a yo-yo, “ever kissed another guy?”

Sid’s eyes are wet, tears flowing, unchecked. Still as a statue, but his face – it was etched in anger.

“’Cause I have” Claude says, lower lip quivering as the words slowly make their way out of his stupid mouth. “What’re you doin’ with me, Sid?” 

Claude can’t seem to stop, hands opening and closing, rhythmically clenching as if there could be some violent solution to his pain, if only he could find it.  “I’m a fuckin'  _screw up_ ” he spits, “can't you see?"

“NO!” Sid screams, _irate,_ finally having had enough of Claude's bullshit.  His cry ousts the last of Claude’s meanderings as he comes back to himself, back to Sid. “I don’t want _ANYONE ELSE!”_

Sid’s face is pale, paler than Claude ever recalled it being, as if his very blood was shrinking away from his presence; his lips are ghostly despite the warmth of the room. “You want someone else to have me?” he prompts, face an open book of hurt.

“No – _never._ Listen to me ” Claude pleads, reaching out for Sid’s hands, right before Sid shoves him away.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“ _Don’t touch me._ ”

Sid’s out of breath, rib-cage expanding, and then collapsing, as he stares daggers into Claude. His pupils are dilated, his hands tremble –

Claude feels like absolute scum.

Their conversation lay bare in the thick silence, broken by the wolf-whistle of Claude’s cell phone. It pings and pings, the screen lighting up to display Claude’s backdrop. It was a picture of them. Claude’s hands are stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, a solemn look on his face – directed right at Sid; their eyes locked. Sid’s face is bright, _beautiful_ , as he smiles up at Claude. He can’t remember where it was taken.

Sid reaches beside him, grasping the phone, hand sheltering the screen.

“It’s okay” Claude says. It was probably Scott, “Just leave it.”

Sid flips the phone over, thumbing passed the key lock. Looking for something to do with his unsteady hands. Claude stays still, watching as Sid scrolls through it, eyes intent. He’s reading something, and after a few beats, the hard edges of his eyes begin to soften; the little crease between his brows fades. Whatever is on the screen has a vice-like grip on his mind.

Claude swallows audibly, “W-What is it?”

Sid turns the phone over in his palm, the lit screen displaying a plethora of text messages, all addressed to Sid. All unanswered.

Sid places the phone into Claude’s hands. Claude’s eyes drift down:

Tuesday, July 26

8:41 a.m.

_Sid I know you’re angry but please don’t fight with your dad, we will figure this out. I should have gotten you home. Im so sorry_

_8:44 a.m._

_I shouldnt have said those things to him_

_8:45 a.m._

_I love you with eveyhting I have_

 

11:59 a.m.

_-Call rejected-_

 

1:03 p.m.

_I hope everything is okay. See you soon_

 

Wednesday, July 27

7:09 a.m.

_Heading to work, have a great day. I love you._

 

12:00 p.m.

_-Call rejected-_

 

10:00 p.m.

_Night, I miss you_

 

Thursday, July 28,

9:00 a.m.

_Is everything okay? I haven’t heard from u, my calls are not going through_

_4:06 p.m._

_I’m over at our spot, you’re not here_

 

5:01 p.m.

_I think I’ve called about 5 times today. Im outside your house_

 

Friday, July 29

9:45 p.m.

_Sid I think I drank too much please pick up_

_10:10 p.m._

_I cant live without u_

Claude’s heart twists in his chest. He remembers the messages, sent the week after Troy had dragged a half-awake Sid out of Claude’s sheets; red-faced and incensed – _wanting to skin Claude alive._

He looks up, just as Sid knocks the wind right out of him, squeezing his arms around Claude’s neck, giving Claude a mouthful of his tongue. He feels the soft skin of Sid’s cheek, and the hard muscles of his chest. Sid’s mouth stays plastered to his own as he steals the breath right from Claude’s lungs – slamming his head back down onto the pillow with the sheer force of it.

Claude’s hair’s everywhere: flowing down his temples, over his eyes, stuck to his cheeks, _strands in his mouth_ – with Sid licking and kissing all over. His body covering Claude’s.

“ _Fuck_ ” Claude gripes, in between kisses, fighting to keep up with Sid’s hasty mouth.  Sid presses a streak of kisses down the flat, tender side of Claude’s face, then to the pinked lobe of Claude’s ear – half crescents still present from Sid’s ill-advised bite.

He drops his forehead to Claude’s, “He took my phone away – I never got them.”

“I know” Claude whispers, chasing Sid’s mouth, eventually settling for a kiss to the corner of his raw mouth, “It’s okay.”

“I don’t want anyone else” Sid tells him, “I won’t _ever_ want anyone else.”

Claude wraps his arms around Sid, swaddling him. His body warm and soft, their breaths in unison. Claude’s eyes fall shut, “I believe you.”

 

_____

 

Claude gives Sid his birthday present right before they turn in. Sid tears the gold embossed wrapping paper to shreds, revealing a grey pea coat, made of wool, with big black buttons lining the sides. Warm and thick for the winter season.

“It’s _perfect”_ Sid beams, eyes crinkling.

He pulls it across his threadbare t-shirt, still dressed in his bright blue boxers. He inspects himself in front of the full-length vanity, hammered ripples lining the frame as it sits stationed by the door. He’s so fucking handsome, Claude thinks, even with his bare, tree-trunk thighs jutting out beneath the coat.

“Thank you, Claude.”

Claude pads towards him; he snakes his arms around Sid’s waistline, snuggling into the side of his neck, where Sid’s skin’s hot to the touch. “You’re welcome.”

Sid clasps his hands over Claude’s forearms, squeezing gently. He turns in his arms, rising to his tip-toes. Claude takes the hint, lifting him up. “Fuck, you’re getting heavy” Claude grumbles, muscles knotting, “the fuck they feeding you?”

Sid just tightens his legs around Claude’s waist, nudging Claude’s chin up to meet his mouth in a hungry kiss. “Take me to bed.”

 

_____          

 

That night, Claude wakes with a splitting headache; it’s like a cage of pain. His dry mouth is sticky with saliva; he groans, rolling off of a slumbering Sid – stumbling in the dark of the hotel room. Claude knows Sid’s probably got some Advil in that backpack of his, always heaved onto his shoulders wherever they went. “It’s weatherproof” Sid would tell him, smug as can be.

He finds it next to the bathroom; he flicks the table lamp on, curling his fingers around the black fabric before he starts to rifle through the front pocket. A folded letter falls out, with an official logo stamped on the corner. Claude opens it up, eyes squinting as they adjust to the dim light.

It’s an acceptance letter from the University of Pittsburgh, addressed to Sid.

_Pittsburgh._

Over 200 miles away.

 

No. No. No.

 

His knees meet the floor, with Sid’s backpack gripped tight in his sore palms. Claude feels his heart cave in on itself, slowly, like a piece of concrete dying in his chest.

 

_____

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop me a line, if you'd like. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!
> 
> SPOILERS. There is a shooting that occurs. It's off-screen, only lasting a handful of minutes. No one is harmed. I know this is a delicate subject matter; thus, the warning. Please heed.

 _____

 

Claude’s eyes blink open, still heavy with sleep. The clock on the bedside table reads 7:27 AM. He lifts his head at the red and oranges hues, just beyond the open window of the hotel room. The colours spill across the sky, signalling the sunrise, like blotted vivid inks. It’s beautiful.

He scrunches a hand through his tumble of hair, the russet colour of autumn – clashing horribly with his skin. Except now it was even worse, with traces of blonde mixed in-between.

He looks over to the spot beside him. Sid’s fast asleep, burrowed underneath the warm duvet, with tufts of black hair poking out. Claude carefully rolls onto his side, peeling the blanket back to look at him.

Sid’s features were even softer in sleep; the delicate sweep of his lashes, his face – fresh as a dew drop, the gentle, snuffling noises escaping with each breath; he’s dreaming about hockey and – _maybe Claude_.

Claude closes his eyes. Sadness surges through him with every expelled breath – just as it had all through the night. He wishes he could filter it out somehow – like he used to when he was a kid; at the litter of cigarettes butts and beer bottles his dad would leave all over their basement; when his grandpa would shake his head, at a loss for words, every time Claude brought home a report card.  _But this_ – he can’t rid himself of it. Sid’s going to leave him.

He had stuffed the letter back into Sid’s backpack and held his face in his hands, tensing against the shaking of his limbs, uselessly, as he willed himself to be brave, to be unselfish. This was Sid’s future. Sid’s dreams. _Sid’s life._

Who the fuck was he to stand in the way of any of it?

But why – _why hasn’t Sid told him?_ Had he tried? Was he afraid of Claude’s reaction?

Maybe Claude was overreacting.                                                                                  

Though there were things in life he wanted to give up, things he _had_ given up – Sid was never on that list. He’s been in love with him for two years; the feeling was strange – _foreign_ : stretching and weaving its way through Claude’s insides those first few months. Sid never left his mind; he was always _there_ , mentally if not physically. It had been overwhelming and _incomprehensible:_ the thought of being a staple in another’s heart _,_ yet it made Claude’s nineteen year old self feel _whole_. Like all the broken, _messed up_ parts were healing. Like he was more than some ping pong ball, bouncing from one place to another.  

Claude longed for _him_ , and he got him.  

Claude tucks himself behind Sid, hand curling around Sid’s middle as he tugs him back so he’s flush against Claude’s chest; they lay moulded together, sharing body heat and the warm blood in each other’s embrace.

Claude nuzzles his nose against Sid’s nape, the baby hairs tickling his nostrils. The hand on Sid’s waist dips low, until Claude feels the tiny, soft hairs of Sid’s navel. Then down further, to the coarse, wiry ones lining the base of his dick, lax and heavy in sleep. He winds his hand around it, feels the weight of it in his palm, before giving it a light _squeeze._

“Nghh” Sid murmurs, unintelligibly.

Claude presses his mouth to Sid’s cheek as he gives him a firm stroke, from the base to tip, then back down again; Sid starts to chub in Claude’s loose grip, still half-dead to the world. His eyelids part as he angles his neck to lock eyes with Claude. He nods, his bleary eyes slipping closed once more.

Claude withdraws his hand, licking a hot stripe, then another, across the flat of it before taking Sid in hand again. It’s leisurely: Claude working to build the pleasure, until it’s enough to swell and pool in Sid’s spine and toes.

He massages around the base, dull nails raking through Sid’s pubes, rough and bristled. Then, Claude reaches below, rubbing the pads of his first two digits against the tight skin tucked behind Sid’s balls; he caresses it _again and again,_ before pumping at Sid’s base, smoothing his fingers over the raised, tender veins, following the gentle curve of its underside.

The head’s wet with pre-come, soft as silk; still tucked up inside Sid’s foreskin; it peers out, slowly, as Claude slides a gentle hand up and down – _over and over._

Sid hums lazily, and after the first few strokes, _Claude cranks it up_ – throwing his free arm across Sid’s chest and shoulders, pinning him against Claude’s front. Sid’s right hand reaches up to grip Claude’s forearm, fingertips digging into the taut skin. Sid shudders in his embrace, toes curling then stretching against the skin of Claude’s ankle. He looks like he’s already coming – mouth hanging open in a permanent tableau, eyes _pinched_ – mind unable to process the pleasure so fast.

“ _Claude._ ”

“I’m right here, baby” Claude tells him. “Lemme hear you.”

_“Lemme feel it.”_

Sid trembles in his arms, trying to break free as Claude jerks his shaft – _faster and faster_ , feeling the weight of his heart snap from its perch and tumble into his stomach with each one of Sid’s unfeigned moans, spilling past his lips and into the open. Claude was crashing; he could feel it. His mouth parts in a harsh sob: “ _Sans toi, je ne suis rien.”_ The words feel punched out of him – ripping through his muscles, his bones, his guts; falling deaf on Sid’s ears. Hot tears well in Claude’s eyes, threatening to trickle down the curves of his cheeks as he tends to Sid’s cries. He buries his face into the fluff of Sid’s head. _Please don’t leave me._

Sid’s head snaps back as he peaks, soaking Claude’s hand. He scoops it up, coating Sid’s pubes and Sid’s dick with it – still stroking him as he coaxes the last of it out of Sid’s slit. It spits out, dribbling down his length to the pebbled skin of his sac. Sid whines, in between pants, as Claude cups his head with his clean hand, turning it in his hold before pressing his mouth over Sid’s lips.

“Ugh” Sid says, making a face as he twists away from him, “ _your breath._ ”

“Oh, ‘cause yours is just _minty fresh_ , huh?” Claude throws back, chuckling despite himself; silent tears drying on his chilled face. He jabs his thumbs into the hollow spaces of Sid’s abdomen, fingers probing the sensitive spot just over Sid’s hip, feeling the way he jolts and giggles. Then _laughs_. “ _Stop it!”_ Sid shouts, kicking at him _._ Claude just traps Sid’s legs between his own, tickling him harder.

 _“Not fair!_ ”

“Okay, okay” Claude says, easing up so Sid can catch his breath, “big baby.”

Sid rolls over and snuggles into him. His arms circle Claude’s back, pulling him in as close as he can, the sheets a mess between them. He falls back asleep within minutes, breath coming in hot puffs against Claude’s skin, with his warm toes tucked in between Claude’s shins.

 

_____

 

They’re out of bed – _and into the bathtub_ – just after 9.

He waits as Sid lowers himself into the hot water. A shaky hand clasped tight around the bulb of Claude’s shoulder, with his legs slowly folding on either side of Claude’s hips. He’s taking forever and Claude’s getting peevish. His soft length, with patches covered in flaked come, swings tauntingly between his thighs, driving Claude _crazy_.

He eventually grips the ledge and plops into Claude’s open lap, straddling him.  

“Finally” Claude groans, “I was about to put it in my mouth.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing” he mutters back, hauling him in, “ _get over here_.”

The cube-shaped tub wasn’t particularly _spacious_ , but it was the nicest one Claude had ever been in. It sat adjacent to the glass shower box – white-grey with jetted soakers and an angular chromed faucet – filled to the brim; the clear water ripples and splashes as Sid moves about, reaching for the shampoo. Claude hooks his arms around Sid’s waist, resting his forehead on Sid’s shoulder. His chest was starting to _ache_. He doesn’t want to think about it. He can’t. Not now.

Sid presses a kiss to the top of his head before lathering the foamed soap into Claude’s tangled, wet hair. With gentle fingertips, Sid massages the suds into the skin of Claude’s scalp. God, it felt _so_ good; the thoughts in his head began melting, like a stick of butter on a searing pan; his body falling limp against Sid’s. Pressing his thumbs to Claude’s temples, Sid works tiny circles into the deft skin. Claude sighs, hands roaming up and down Sid’s back.

“Where else?”

“Here” Claude says, _half-awake_ , as he guides Sid’s palms just above his nape.

Using the heels of his hands, Sid starts to knead around the delicate base of Claude’s skull, holding him in place against his chest as he eases the tensed muscles; squeezing firmly, _then letting go_. Claude breathes in, feeling light as air, nostrils engulfing the delicate hint of peppermint; then, he breathes out.

Sid dips the rinsing jug beneath the water’s surface, filling it up. He shields Claude’s eyes with the palm of his hand, letting the water spill down his head and around his shoulders in a glossy, soapy curtain –again and again.

He gently fists Claude’s hair to squeeze the excess water out next. The surge of pressure – blissful, blunt, – radiates right through Claude’s head, eyes fighting to stay open. Sid tips his head back, picking a damp thread of hair out of Claude’s eyes before joining their mouths.

“How’s it?” Sid asks, cradling Claude’s head as he kisses a trail down the slender bridge of his nose to the tip.

Claude clutches him; then runs a wet hand through his dry curls. “S’much better. Thank you.”

“I’m gonna get you some Advil” Sid says, licking water droplets off Claude’s chin, “and breakfast.”

“No, no, no, baby. I’m fine.” The Tylenol hadn’t done much. Fuck, did it ever? But Claude’s headache was almost gone, just a light weight hovering around the edges of his cranium. Last night – well that had been another story – the pain sat _nailed_ over Claude’s right eye.

His eyes suddenly snap into focus, “ _Sid!_ ”

He’s climbing out of the tub, already out of Claude’s reach – his body leaving a sweep of water along the marble floor.

“I’ll be right back – just going to go down to the lobby” Sid says. There was a spa down there, some gift shops, and a slew of eateries lining the complex. “Gonna get the Advil and some food.”

“You sure?” Claude asks, “I can come with you.”

Sid leans down to kiss his cheek, “I’m sure.” He turns around and Claude’s eyes trail down, slowly, _helplessly_ , from the line of his back to the exposed curve of his ass: smooth and plump and _wet_ – jiggling as he towels himself off. He had no fucking idea what he did to Claude. _None._

“ _Alright”_ Claude says, “be quick. There’s cash in my wallet. It’s in my duffel.”

“’Kay” Sid says, pulling a loose tee over his head and wrenching his jeans up and over the hump of his bare ass, foregoing any underwear – _fucking hell_. He smiles Claude’s way as he shuffles out the door; it matches the cheeky little gleam in his eyes.

He was so easy to love.

Claude sighs, slinking into the length of the tub.

 

_____

 

Claude stretches his long legs out in front of him, head resting against the love-seat next to the unmade bed; his skin’s flushed pink and pruned, curls still damp. The sunrises’ rosy glow is long gone, supplanted by a spear of yellow light – piercing through the clouds.

Claude checks his texts. There’s another one from Scott; Claude snickers at it: _Still going at it like rabbits??_ Claude returns a swift _Fuck you_ before exiting the thread.

There’s one from Mike: their work schedule for next week. Claude checks the weather. The sun was going to be at full blast. He would be dripping with sweat, from his head down to his toes, with a pack of mosquitoes needling at his blood. What else? Maybe a nosebleed or two.

Claude _hated_ the job – clearing debris and _garbage_ and trees ripped from their roots; the sounds of saws and drills and grinders _puncturing_ his eardrums. He wanted something more – _so much_ more. He wishes he knew _what._

He shakes his head, tilting his head up to look at the blank wall. There was a sudden stillness in the room, the ticking of the clock’s minute hand echoing behind him. He drops his head to look at the time on his screen – _10:37 AM._

_Shit._

How long had it been since Sid left? He should have been back by now, Claude thinks. The refrigerator’s compressor suddenly switches on, humming from the kitchenette, prickling Claude’s skin.

He pushes off the floor, ready to grab his coat and key card when he hears it.

 

The unmistakable sound of two gunshots, fired in rapid succession.

 

Claude scrambles, running from the bedroom – colliding with the wooden table just outside, legs like iron rods curled at its base. Claude’s body doesn’t register the pain; it’s flooded with fear.

 

_Sid._

 

He hears a third shot, a fourth – _then a fifth_ – and lets out a cry, the panic like a cluster of spark plugs in his abdomen. He bolts out of the room, swinging the door open, in his sandals and sweats, _without a thought._  

He’s sprinting down the quiet corridor, the wide halls dressed in beige and brown, with muted paintings lining the walls; it’s all an earth toned blur. Claude’s feet pound the roll of carpet, sending shockwaves right up to his brain; they were on the third floor. The noise – _the shots_ – rang from below. He’s sure of it. _Had it come from the lobby_? Sid was down there. He’d been down there for almost an hour – _no, no, no_. Claude’s eyes burn. He could feel the pressure of every beat in his chest as his feet hit the ground, heaving through like a hurricane; his insides suddenly a pile of kindling and twisted metal. _Sid was down there – and a psychopath just opened fire._

His shoulder knocks against the hard curve of a bend, revealing another stretch of hallway; a smattering of the hotel’s guests slide into view, lingering by their doors, slightly agape: a woman clinging to a man’s front; they’re dressed in thick white robes, sleepy expressions suddenly scraped in wariness. There’s another woman blocking the door’s entry, a small child clutching at her bare legs.

“Everyone get back inside.  _Now._ ”                                   

Claude turns at the sound of the unnerved voice: a man’s – his face is in a panic, skin crimson. His eyes pop, alarmed by Claude’s proximity. Claude _stares_ at him – just for a moment, before his brain dials back up; then, _he runs_. The man follows suite, breath coming in small, nervous spurts, his silhouette chasing Claude’s; he catches up, tackling him to the floor, his rough hands seizing Claude’s body.

“FUCK!” Claude screams, the sound raw and brutal. He can’t breathe, struggling and twisting against the man’s bulk, “It’s not safe!” he screeches in Claude’s ear. Claude knees him – then shoots his right leg out, kicking at the man’s stomach, over and over. “Get the _fuck_ off! GET OFF! Let me go. _Please_ ” Claude begs, “ _I have to go._ ” Boiling tears come rushing down, streaking his flushed cheeks. The man lets up, and Claude shakes himself free, keeled over and out of breath, _incapacitated_. His mind feels cold and out of focus, like an icy wasteland –

 

_Sid._

 

He runs.

 

_____

 

He reaches the row of elevators, slapping the lit button repeatedly, swinging his head left and right; the adrenalin flew over his veins like a carp through the river. He waits and waits as the silence presses in on him – the kind of silence that falls right before you get knifed in the back.

 _There’s no one around._ Were they all asleep? Had they crawled under their beds – terrified of a ski mask, kicking in their doors and killing anyone in sight? Claude didn’t hear any more shots, just the initial _booms_ – tightly grouped. Four or five. It did nothing to settle his fear-inflamed mind – what if the damage had already been done?

How – _how could he have let him go?_ For some fucking _pills_.

The doors finally part with a _ding_ to reveal four gold walls, a black carpet, and a silver handrail. It’s empty. He rushes inside, thumb jabbing at the sleek panel. The lift closes, humming as it eases Claude down from the third floor to the first, without stopping, knee deep in silence.

The compartment splits.

Claude steps out.

There’s a small gathering, just beyond the row of reception desks – next to the statue cast in bronze, a griffin. It’s a cluster of policemen and hotel staff. One of them scribbles on a pad of paper as a woman talks animatedly, a Bluetooth headset wound around her ears. The man next to her has a hen-pecked look about him; shoulders hunched and eyes dark. The rest of them are clearing the area, directing occupants out and – _back up_.

Claude eyes drift to the set of cop cars just outside the revolving doors – blue and red lights flashing brightly. The Starbucks is shut down; shards of thick glass scattered on the floor; grey bullet holes mar the sides of it in streaks. Claude doesn’t see an ambulance – or a fire truck, _or any blood_. His lungs fill.

“Sir, we need to vacate the area.”

He whips his head around, met with a dark blue uniform and shiny shoes: a policeman. “Are you okay?” he asks, the baritone of his voice reverberating through Claude’s bones. He’s old – mid to late forties, Claude thinks, yet he has the build of a teenager, muscles lithe under his attire.

“No” Claude says, swallowing hard, “ _my – my boyfriend_ – he’s down here.”

“Everything is okay” he tells Claude, like he’s talking him off a ledge, “no one was hurt.” The low rumble of his voice was soft and comforting. “Where was he headed?”

Claude looks at him. His brows crease at the question: “I don’t – _I don’t know._ ” Fuck.

“Can you tell me what he was wearing?”

Claude stares at him with wide open eyes, body chained to the spot; the brown pools of his pupils unmoving, _unblinking_. He’s following the man’s lips, but he can’t comprehend the words.

“ _What’s his name?_ ” he tries instead.

Claude’s mouth remains pursed; glazed eyes fixed a yard behind the man’s head. “It’s – ” he starts, eyes suddenly catching on the crystal chandelier above; it hung from the peaked ceiling like the bejeweled corpse of a giant spider. Claude’s stomach lurched at the sight of it.  “Sid” he finally chokes out. “ _Sidney_.”

“ _Okay._ He might have gone back up – what floor are you on?”

“Uh – _third_ ” Claude answers; his brain cells felt scrambled and – _randomized_ – within the globe of his head. His eyes begin to wander, desperately trying to find a mop of black curls. It felt like he was in a trance, with his brain working overdrive.

A soft line forms between the man’s brows as he studies Claude. “Okay. Why don’t we go up and check?” he asks, trying his best to mollify him.  “If he’s not there, we’ll come right back down.”

“I _– okay_ ” Claude whispers, dazed.  

The kind policeman leads Claude back up, the same way he came, with a strong arm wrapped around Claude’s left shoulder, keeping him _steady_. 

 

_____

 

Claude doesn’t learn anything about the incident – _who or why or how_. Only that no one was dead.

Once they reach the third floor, Claude breaks into a speed walk. There’s more people in the hall – some huddled together, few talking, others departing – with luggage in hand. Claude shoulders past them, turning the corner. The floor feels uneven, the dull colours swirl and –

There’s a figure near the end of the hall, standing just outside the entrance of – Room 110? _No, it was 109._ Claude locks eyes with him – and before he can suck in a breath, the body breaks into a sprint, running for Claude’s own.

 

_Sid._

 

He drops the plastic bag clutched in his hand, a foot away from Claude, as Claude reaches for him, dizzy with a joy and a relief _so intense_ , it clips at his core, it bursts through his veins.

Sid pitches his arms around Claude’s neck, legs swinging up to twine themselves around Claude’s waist.

“ _Baby_ ” Claude splutters, before tongue and teeth clash as Sid goes in straight for Claude’s open mouth, _devouring_ it. They kiss and kiss and _kiss_ – right there in the middle of the hallway, with a cop a foot away.

Claude reluctantly pulls back, slowly setting Sid down on his feet. He cups his round face, holding it tight between his palms, “Are you okay? _Are you hurt?_ ”

“M’fine” Sid answers. His eyes are red and a little puffy; his hair’s a fucking mess. And – _he’s alive._ Claude bubbles with _happiness_ – split open and stuffed full of it.

Sid peeks past Claude’s shoulder, then noses along the curve of it. Claude’s hands dip down to the circle of his neck; he wipes his mouth before turning his head, following Sid’s line of sight. The policeman smiles their way. It’s warm, working its way across his face and into his eyes. Sid shrinks away from him, pushing his face into Claude’s open neck – the way he does when he’s feeling shy.

The officer spins on his heel, and disappears down the foyer.

Sid tugs at Claude’s shirt; Claude whirls back around as Sid sweeps his curls back before diving in for another kiss, pushing his lips in more firmly, fitting them against Claude’s. Claude’s head swims with it. He grabs the back of Sid’s neck, growling into their next kiss as Sid whimpers in his arms. He wants to take him – _to fucking carry him_ – all the way home. “Where’d you go?” Sid murmurs.

“To look for you. I heard the shots and I – ” Claude pauses, “ _I ran_.”

Sid tilts his head back, button eyes darting back and forth, “To find me?”

“Of course” Claude tells him, easy as anything.

Sid melts into him, arms folding around Claude’s back. His shoulders begin to heave as he hiccups, again and again; he’s crying; droplets falling from his trembling chin, wetting Claude’s skin.

“Hey, _hey_ ” Claude says, holding him close as they rock back and forth “what’re you cryin’ about, huh?”

Claude waits; Sid’s breath seemed to stutter in his lungs before he let it go – “Sid?”

“ _I love you.”_

_____

 

They leave right away – Claude can’t stomach staying another minute.

He’s got one hand on the steering wheel; the other’s wound around Sid’s hand as they drive, tires sailing across the tired grey road as they depart York Street. The sun continues to rise – its bright rays slanting through Claude’s window. The morning air was chilly; Sid sat bundled in his new coat.

Claude brings Sid’s hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles at every red light. The bottle of Advil rattles in the circular placeholder; Claude wants to hurl it out the window.

They’re out of the metropolis and back into town within half an hour.

He slows as the familiar houses lining Sid’s block near, shoulder to shoulder, as if they’d been welded there since birth, with narrow driveways. He pulls over at a cul-de-sac just adjacent. The engine grates as it comes to a stop. He has to ask. It’s been eating away at him, like a gnawing hunger – bit by bit. He parks along the cement curb, drawing the key from the ignition. “Sid.”

Sid blinks, looking over at him.

“Sid, I saw the letter” Claude starts, “in your backpack.” His eyes are locked on the empty street ahead, jaw clenched uncomfortably. “Were you ever gonna tell me?” he asks; the sob we was holding in chocks his voice back.

Sid grasps his hand, caught off guard. “Claude, I – _I was_. I swear.”

Claude looks at him. He’s chewing his bottom lip, eyes etched in the same sadness Claude’s been harbouring for the last twenty-four hours. And _fuck that_ – fuck Sid thinking he should feel sad or guilty about any of this. Claude needs him to be happy. “Hey – it’s amazing, Sid” Claude tells him, because it is. And he is. “ _You’re amazing_.”

“Thank you.”

“When – when do you leave?” Claude asks, the words hardly managing to break out.

“First week of September” Sid tells him. “Mom and Dad and Taylor are moving at the end of the month.”

Claude feels his heart crack, for a third time in one day, “Wait. _What?”_

Sid looks away, but Claude reaches across the barrier between them, framing his face and turning it back Claude’s way, “Sid” he says, licking his cracked lips, “ _what’re you talking about?_ ”

“Mom and Dad are moving with me.”

The words fall out of Sid’s mouth like vapour, but it’s like shrapnel landing in Claude’s guts; his insides felt like they were tearing. His hands fall away. A part of him wanted to _laugh_ ; his body was completely and utterly exhausted _, rung dry_ ; there’s nothing left – absolutely _nothing_. But Sid’s dead serious.

Claude’s mind raced: he couldn’t understand it. They’d lived here all their lives – _twenty something years_. Why would they suddenly pack up and –

 _Oh_ – at an instant, Claude knew.

 

 _Troy_.

 

This was it. He’d won. He’s finally ripped Sid away from Claude’s _filthy_ clutches.

What reason would Sid have to come back? For Christmas or New Year’s – or whatever the fuck else? His _family_ would be with him – a whole other city with wide avenues and sky towers to explore, with new people, new adventures; and he would meet – _Claude's eyes squeeze shut_. He would meet someone else. His life would be in _Pittsburgh_ – where did Claude fit into that? He didn’t. He couldn’t.   

Sid unclicks his belt, inching across the divider, right into Claude’s space. He wraps his arms around him, knees bracketing Claude’s thighs as he settles in his lap. “It’s gonna be okay” he says. Claude’s heart sinks into his shoes at the sound of his voice – at the sweet way he’s trying to comfort him. Claude loves him so much. “We’ll call each other every day and – I’ll visit. _And you can visit_.”

Claude just holds him, staring into space; his hands splayed across Sid’s back, feeling the way his body presses in, soft and warm and _real_. But his mind – it’s _numb_.

Sid’s rests his chin on top of Claude’s head, nuzzling at his unkempt curls. His arms clenched him tighter. "I'll never leave you. I promise, Claude."

 

 _He already had_ – and his dad would make certain of it.

 

_____

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your thoughts are appreciated!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sid and Claude's goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little late, but this is exactly how I imagine Claude to look in this fic. Note the [hair](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rKLsmy2H5CI)
> 
> I've taken a bit of risk/ 'jump' with this chapter.

_____

_Why aren’t you here yet??_

_Just outside hang on babe_

Claude slips his phone back into the pouch pocket of his fleece hoodie. The grey house was a blur behind the rain-washed window of Claude’s truck. A large chimney poked out of one side of the roof and a small chimney out of the other. It was identical to its neighbours, right down to the shade of paint on the iron balconies, but Claude knew which one was Sid’s right away. The grey paint was a smooth, unbroken layer while the window frames were a brilliant white on top of new wood, just visible underneath the light fixtures. They had revamped the house – the sight of it leaving Claude emotionally bankrupt, his mind still laid waste by the news. News two weeks old.

He parks down the road, just underneath an ancient oak, hunkered low with fanned out branches.  His satchel’s slung across his back as he jogs down the vacant sidewalk. It was dark under the star-speckled sky; nearly midnight.

He reaches the house, spotting the ladder right away, tucked against the side of the house, next to the coiled garden hose. Claude lifts it, setting it firmly against the stucco siding, steel legs digging into the wet, patchy grass. He holds the ladder tight, scaling upward one rung at a time. Reaching the edge of the sloping roof, he grips it and heaves himself up with a strained groan. It’s shaped like a valley, a slab of asphalt jutting outward, just outside Sid’s square window. He pads across on the tips of his toes, lightning quick, just as the frame blows open.

“ _Come on!”_  Sid says, waving his hands in a frantic frenzy.

Claude climbs through the open space, feet meeting solid ground as Sid tumbles back. Claude catches him, pulling him in close; letting his five o’ clock shadow graze Sid’s jaw. Claude’s mouth comes down on his, eyes slipping closed. It’s a slow, sweet  slide into mindlessness as Sid twists his tongue into Claude’s mouth, arms coming up to lock themselves around Claude’s neck.

He kisses down the column of Claude’s throat, biting down on the fabric of Claude’s sweatshirt; he yanks at his duffel.

Claude spins them around, sweeping Sid off his feet. The smell of lemon – of sunny, sweet fruit – packs the air. Claude presses his nose to Sid’s mane, breathing him in again. “ _I could fuckin’ eat you._ _”_

“I showered” Sid says, smiling up at him. And there it was again, that aching pressure in Claude’s chest. He takes a step back, taking a look around. He’s been here only a handful of times – three, maybe four. Claude’s eyes rove over the walls, a deep sea blue, then over to Sid’s bed, jammed against the far wall, with a poster of Yzerman nailed above; the edges torn. There’s an old Polaroid of Taylor on his dresser, propped up against the base of his lamp. She’s in a frilly frock – mauve, with a glittering tiara atop her head, and bright bangles on her wrists; her clenched smile revealing a row of missing teeth. It must have been Halloween – or her birthday. Claude eyes land on Sid’s suitcase, braced against the closet door. His eyes flicker away.

Sid weaves his fingers into Claude’s loose ringlets, drawing him back in for another kiss. Claude could kiss him for days –  _weeks_. He walks them to the bed.

“Everyone asleep?’ Claude asks. He knows he shouldn’t be here. Knows the world of trouble Sid will get into if his parents catch him here –  _in Sid’s fucking bed_  – but Claude can’t bring himself to care; to give a fuck. Not anymore. The festering guilt was gone. His mind feels like an engine most days – one that turns over and over, never kicking into action. Other days it’s like heels striking dirt, without the flesh that’s supposed to cushion the blow. There was no way out of this  _hurt_ ; it was bonded to his skin, seeping out in acts of haste. He would never let Sid know.

He’s leaving in three days.

Sid nods. “Mom and Dad will be gone in the morning.”

They were visiting Sid’s aunt in Hamilton for the day, an hour’s drive. They’d be back in the evening. Sid and Claude had plans to go to Wonderland tomorrow; at least it was one less lie Sid would need to tell.

The back of Claude’s shins hit the frame of the bed; Sid tips him over, promptly climbing on top and into his lap. “We had pizza. I saved you some” Sid says, pointing to Claude’s left – a wooden cabinet stands alone, cherry red, with a glass plate atop it, its contents bound in aluminum foil. “Just warmed it up.”

 _“Angel”_ Claude says, planting a fleeting kiss to Sid’s cheek, just as Sid reaches behind him for the plate, uncovering it. Warm, enticing scents come floating down, kick-starting a rumble in Claude’s stomach. The pizza was thin crust, with olives, feta cheese, tomato, and  _sausage_  – Claude’s favourite. He licks his lips.

“Ah” Sid whispers, mouth hanging open as he mimes the words.

Claude laughs, tipping his face upward and parting his lips – stretching them wide enough to swallow the room; he ends up chomping down on air as Sid withdraws his hand at the last second. He cackles, grin lopsided, as Claude pinches his wrist, hushing him with a kiss. “You little _shit disturber_.”

It would always be like this: silly, playful –  _fragile_. Sid continues to snicker; his face half-lit by shadow, those dimples crinkling the skin near his lips. “Come on,  _stop_ ” Claude says, “your Dad’s gonna bust in here with a chainsaw.”

“Okay, okay” Sid says, settling down.

He does it again, and  _again –_ cajoling Claude with that same devious tilt of his mouth – until Claude learns his lesson and wrestles the slice out of Sid’s hand, grease lining his palms.

“You tired?” Claude asks, some twenty minutes later; he twists around, quietly placing the dinner plate back up on the dresser. It’s full of half-eaten crusts. “Bed?”

Sid peers up at him, golden eyes full of mischief and spark. Bright as the moon; his chin’s propped on Claude’s chest. He shakes his head, eyeing him up and down, worrying his bottom lip. _Jesus._  Claude straightens up immediately. “Sid,  _no_. You’re gonna get way too fuckin’ loud.”

“I’ll stay quiet.”

“ _Sid._ ”

Sid flouts him, pushing him back down, wheedling Claude out of his hoodie; his bare torso’s beneath – the skin pale, belly soft and swollen from the pizza. Sid tugs the fabric up.

Claude’s chain’s suddenly knotted in his hair, the strands sticking together – a wash overdue. “M’sorry” Sid says, gently untangling it before he pulls the material up and over Claude’s ruffled head. He runs his fingertips along the thread of silver, setting the pendant against the curve of Claude’s collarbone. And Claude – his head’s already spinning, body aching underneath Sid’s.  _No one else would ever come close_. “I won’t make a sound” he says, softly. Claude folds, eyelids locked. He feels the slip of Sid’s nose across his own, a steady rush in his ears, like beating wings – just before their mouths meet.

“I  _love_ the sounds you make” Claude murmurs back, absently.

 

_____

 

Sid rocks in the warmth of his lap – soaking up Claude’s size, and  _his_ _strength_ ; his mouth’s latched to Claude’s neck, scraping his teeth against the blushed skin; holding all the noises safe inside. It’s slow and rhythmic, the pleasure ripe and piercing. Claude’s buried deep –  _so fucking deep_  he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to pull out.

Sid clings to him, the nails of one hand digging into his back – his mouth breathing all over Claude’s skin. “ _I love you inside me_ ” Sid says, clenching down on the girth of him, _again and again_. Claude’s eyes slip closed, lost in the sensation – thoughts ready to splinter. Sex with Sid was like a cup overflowing. Claude wants to drown in him, wants to burrow into his  _skin_  – carve out a space, maybe live there. He wants to return the words, but he’s afraid that his voice will break. Afraid that Sid will hear just how much it all hurts. _Fuck it._  “I was made for you.” The words spill out; heart worn and hollowed.

He was barely out of his fucking teens – where did he learn to feel _this much?_

When Sid crests, it’s in the form of a muffled cry against Claude’s stubble – the pleasure shooting through his body, and out his throat. “Lemme taste it” Claude says, tone swathed in lust – thoughts soft and slush-like; his blood beats low and hard in his belly. “ _C’mon”_ he urges. Sid squirms against him, _flustered_ \- cheeks overspread with a deep blush. Claude fucking loves it.

Sid lifts a hand as Claude parts his mouth, arousal rippling through his bones, tongue slipping out to swipe at the pad of Sid’s thumb; it’s briny, and a little bitter – made sweet by Sid’s mouth.

Claude lays him down afterward, easing out – despite Sid’s protests. “Wait, no.  _Don’t!_ ”

“Shh, it’s okay” Claude soothes, inching all the way out.

“ _No_ ” Sid says, panting furiously as he flails beneath him. They were face to face in the gloom, staring into what little they could see of each other's eyes. Sid’s come was cooling on his stomach, his tip still wheezing. “ _Why do you always do that?_ ” he says, mouth buckling and eyes pinched into slits – he shunts Claude aside.

Claude’s mouth’s suddenly dry, mind surged with perplexity; a mixture of panic and desperation _and_ \- he could feel his cock wilt, the flesh softening, blood rushing out; _what had he done?_ – “ _Do what?”_  Claude says, cradling Sid’s face. Was it too much?

 Claude can’t read him; his emotions suddenly roiling.

“Let me  _use_  you” Sid says, twisting away from him. The words come out on a guttural sob. Claude lets him go; warm, sweaty skin suddenly ice cold. He crawls to the foot of the bed – leaving a trail of messy wet – legs dangling off the edge, with his back to Claude. _Stubborn as fuck._

Claude draws in a jagged, uneven breath. Head a spinning stop. He follows – the confusion settling in, and it’s pitch black; he extends his arm. Lacing it around Sid’s midriff, Claude drags him back – until Sid’s seated in his open lap. “Sid, I don’t understand” he mumbles against his sloped nape, folding Sid in his arms, their naked bodies tucked together.

“S’nothing” Sid mutters into the dark, nestling against Claude’s chest.

“Of course it’s something” Claude says, “tell me.”

Sid fiddles with the hem of the blanket; Claude bows his head, tucking it into the crook between Sid’s neck and shoulder. 

“Why – why do you always stop?”

“Stop?”

“After – after I’m done” Sid explains, “ _what about you?”_

_Oh._

Claude squeezes the soft flesh of Sid’s hips, “I know it’ll hurt you if I keep going. I don’t want it to hurt, okay?” He can finish himself off. It’s no big deal. “You’re not using me. Don’t ever fuckin’ think that” Claude says, voice lowered to a gruff murmur, chest rising and falling with each frustrated breath; he mouths along Sid’s shoulder, “you’ve never taken anything I didn’t wanna give. _Never_ , Sid.”

“You give me  _everything_ ” Sid shoots back, dashing his hands against the wetness in his eyes. It wasn’t just about the sex anymore. “You buy me gifts on  _your_  birthday” he says, body wound tight, like a ball of tangled yarn. “You take me to places I know you can’t afford –  _places you don’t even like, Claude.”_

Sid was snowballing; thoughts ballooning in his head, pressing at the points of his skull – airing out.

“It’s nothing” Claude lulls, pulling him close.

 _“It’s not_ _nothing”_ Sid snipes back, indignant. “You sold your motorcycle for me – and you _loved_ that thing _._ I ask you for something, and it’s there before I can even blink.”Sid clutches Claude’s forearms, voice cracking – a twisted, nonsensical guilt feeding on the marrow of his bones, “ _And that day at the hotel_ – ”

“– Hey, hey, c’mon” Claude says, sliding his hands up and down Sid’s ribcage; he can’t bear to hear the end of that sentence, to re-live that _fucked up_ day. The nightmares were still fresh; paralyzing, naked, and cold. Sid with bullets in his skin. Claude trembles.

“Sometimes I – ” Sid starts. Then dwindles.

Claude holds him, immersed in the dimness of the room, nose buried in Sid’s hair; he’s calm. He waits.

Sid’s chest rises, letting it _all_ out in the next breath, “Sometimes I think there isn’t another person on this planet that could love anyone _the way you love me.”_

He shifts in Claude’s arms, turning all the way ‘round, a startled-rabbit look gracing his plump face. Claude’s ears ring with the staccato _thrum, thrum_ of his heart. Did he hear that right? “ _Shit_ , Sid” he stutters; he’s struck, nearly suffocated by the words. He needs Sid’s mouth on his – _right the fuck now_. He takes Sid’s chin in his hand, and plants his mouth soundly over the full lips before him.

His heart pounds crazy fast in his chest.

“Sid, you remember that day?” Claude says suddenly, voice catching as he pulls back, “that day we first saw each other?” Sid nods, cupping his neck. “I was hanging around the subway, waiting for a call. Feelin’ useless as _fuck_.” He’d just been fired – curses spewed at his boss; angry words spilling out like water, his mouth a fucking faucet. It was a painful time; Claude wanting to wipe himself out, missing his grandpa in waves, the oily smoke of his cigarette permeating the stale air. “I looked across, just past the train tracks, and I see _you_ ” Claude whispers, “in those bell bottoms, hugging that backpack – jumpy as fuck. _You remember?_ ” Sid nods, fingers digging into Claude’s shoulder blades, the tip of his nose stroking lightly against Claude’s. “Your eyes were flyin’ around” Claude continues, chuckling, trying to find the words, “like - like you’d just been dropped from outer space.”

“ _I was lost_ ” Sid says, bottom lip curved in a fat pout. Claude drags his thumb across it.

“I know” he tells him. “I felt – I felt the same way, Sid. _You were me_. And I could see it – that there was someone just as lost as me, maybe just as hurt. And in that moment – in those 30 seconds – I could breathe. I wasn’t alone.”

Sid breathes out, eyeing Claude in wonder – or maybe it was bewilderment. His warm palms slip down Claude’s spine, halting just above his tailbone – he clutches him, so _tight_ it hurts to breathe. “You kept staring.”

“ _Yeah”_ Claude says with a shaky laugh, “didn’t want you to go.”

Sid lifts a hand, fingers sliding against Claude’s jawline, “And now you’re here. With me for real” Claude says around a smile, “and I’m not gonna apologize for loving you, for making you feel loved, _alright?_ ‘Cause that’s how it’s supposed to be. I promise you.”

Sid nods in assent, leaning up to catch his lips – holding them there. “It doesn’t hurt, you know?” Sid says, breaking the moment as he leans back to meet Claude’s gaze, eyes heated “ _it feels good_.”

“ _Baby_ , you gotta stop” Claude says, words edged; he slams his mouth back onto Sid’s, tongue filling his pink mouth. They fall back against the sheets as Sid mounts him. He reaches back to fist Claude’s dick, letting it slip back inside him.

Claude’s coal-black eyes crush shut.

 

_____

 

He rouses to the musk of come and sweat. It was all over – lingering on the sheets, on their bodies, and in Claude’s _mouth_. They needed to crack a window. _And wash the covers._

Sid’s snoring on his chest, hands curled around the width of Claude’s shoulders; the flesh of his warm, heavy body a reassuring pressure atop Claude’s. Sunlight spilled through the window, sharpening the edges of Sid’s cabinets in fine gold. Claude sighs, tunnelling his fingers through Sid’s thick hair.

There’s a knock on the door – it’s light, just a tap of fingers, and Claude’s hands _freeze_. He twines his legs around the back of Sid’s thighs, clamping down tight, “Baby, baby, _wake up_ ” he whispers, heart beating a mile a minute; he rolls them onto their side.

“It’s just Taylor” Sid murmurs, unfazed, as he laces his arms around Claude’s neck; he wipes his nose against the dip of Claude’s collarbone.

“What about – ?”

“They’re gone” Sid says, eyes blinking all the way open, voice still rough from sleep. “I saw them off two hours ago.” He narrows his eyes, _“You were sleeping like a log.”_

Claude irons a hand through his greasy hair, wild as a jungle. He chuckles. “Thank _fuck._ I was about to jump out the window.”

Sid bites at his neck, “No you weren’t.” Claude slaps his ass in response, open-handed, loud as a clap against the bare flesh.  “Wanna bet?”

Sid squawks, manhandling him – until Claude’s flat on his back again, blood waking his brain. A crooked smile cracks Sid’s face, eyes alight. “You little vampire” Claude chirps, smoothing his fingers over the bite mark; Sid giggles, blithe and open. Claude’s half-tempted to throw the blankets over them – to have him one more time – just as another knock comes echoing.

“Oh” Sid says, rolling off, “can we let her in?”

Claude grasps Sid’s hand. “Wait a sec” he says, ushering himself up and off the bed. He slips into Sid’s sweats, drawcords dangling, with the elastic cuffs inches above Claude’s skinny ankles. He pads across the room to unlock the window, letting the morning sun and the day’s fresh air seep in. Sid pulls on a clean shirt and a pair of shorts.

Claude struts to the door; he swings the knob, and finds Taylor on the other side, yawning. She’s dressed in baggy, polka-dot pyjamas, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her golden hair draped down softly, curling along the ends.

Claude crouches down before her, palms spread over his thighs. “Hi, darling.”

“Where’s your shirt?” she says, in-lieu of hello, a hand strutted on her hip, “did you have a sleepover with Squid?”

“Uh – something like that” Claude says, rubbing the back of his head. He gently takes Taylor’s hand in his own, “you excited for today?”

Taylor smiles at him, a deep blush coloring her round little face. She nods. She looked just like her brother – round cheekbones, hollowed dimples; the same nose. Claude knew how protective Sid was of her; how he loved her with his whole heart. “Squid said we’re leaving after breakfast.”

“Yeah” Sid says, voice booming from somewhere behind. He sidles up behind him, an arm circling Claude’s neck. “Claude’s gonna make us pancakes.”

“Really?” Taylor asks, blue eyes zipping from Sid to Claude’s, heart charging in her chest.

Claude smiles, “Yup. Apple cinnamon.”

Taylor breaks into a run, bouncing from the hall – down the stairs, and toward the kitchen. Hair whipping behind her; giddy and gleeful.

Claude brings Sid’s curled palm to his mouth, brushing a kiss to its inside. Sid tightens both arms around his neck, draping himself over Claude’s back; his legs wind around Claude’s waist.

Claude heaves them off the ground with a loud grunt, hands seizing the inside of Sid’s kneecaps, carrying him on a piggyback.  “Shower.”

“’Kay.”

 

_____

 

They had arrived in Vaughan just after noon. It was warm – summer days winding down: perfect for a day out. They had ridden every coaster across the 134-hectare park– the Blacklot, the Dragon Fire, the Flight Deck – with Taylor screaming her ears off around each loop and dive.

The sky, dotted with candy-floss clouds, was now turning in – the sun beginning its descent toward the horizon. Twinkling lights, painted faces, and the scent of deep-fried food was all around. They watch amongst the throng of people as Taylor rides the carousel; platform lighting up the night sky, wooden horses rising and sinking in a slow, dizzying circle – with Claude’s oversized cap covering her eyes.

Claude rocks Sid in his arms to the deep bass and falsetto howls drifting out the speakers. It’s a familiar tune. Claude knows it – the verbal echoes, the sliding pitch. It pours like liquid over his eardrums.

He smirks. Lips loose, lobes perked – Claude waits for the lines to kick in. Right on cue, he _croons_ at Sid – mouth bound against his ear, “These lips, _can't wait to taste your skin._ ” Sid rumbles with laughter as Claude dips him low – pressing a chaste kiss to his eyelid – before hauling him upright. The words roll off his tongue like honey, simple and sweet. Sid’s high pitched giggles slowly spread to Claude, cheeks burning, and -

Happiness flows through him, sharp and booming, warming Claude’s freckled skin, from the inside out. Sid turns in his hold, smiling. It takes up his entire face, radiating from his lips to his eyes. “I like this song.”

“We’ll play it at our wedding” Claude murmurs, before their mouths come together; the taste of warm cinnamon explodes on Claude’s tongue. Mini donuts. Sid must have had a dozen. “I wish you could come with me” Sid says, pushing his face into Claude’s neck; it isn’t the first time he’s said this – or asked Claude to come. Claude never knows what to say – _what would I do in Pittsburgh? Where would I live?_ He had no Green Card – was he even eligible?

He closes his eyes, letting the thoughts filter away.

They sway together, letting the crowd flow around them, like water around an island.  The carousel ceases. The blinking lights cut out. 

 

 

 _He leaves on a Tuesday in September_ ; sun-filled, but cold. The chill creeps under Claude’s layers, spreading across his skin, numbing his insides.

Sid’s pressed against his front, and –

There’s a mess of tears streaming down Sid’s face, gold eyes flicking back and forth between Claude’s. He’s got to get back home. Claude’s eyelids slip closed, holding in a sharp, full breath as he memorizes the touch of Sid’s fingers, the sounds of his breathing, the scent of lemon – of being _inside_ him. _He’ll be back. He’ll be back._ The bruises on his ribs ached as Sid held him. Sid guides his head down and kisses his sombre lips, body shaking against Claude’s; trying to swallow back the hiccups and sobs running through him.

Claude takes a careful breath to steady his words; they were important, “I love you, Sid. More than air.” More than my own life. He presses a kiss just behind Sid’s ear. “I believe in you. I believe in your dreams.”

And then – it was over.

 

 _Sid was gone_. Expelled from Claude’s life. It felt like ice bleeding into his toes, spreading painfully throughout his feet; hefting up – from the curve of his spine to his skull.

 

_He’ll be back. He loves you._

That evening, he treads down the empty streets outside his apartment, feeling the rough cracks through his thin soles. It’s dark; the shadows of the trees blend into blackness. Everything’s _dead._ The wind moves as if Claude weren’t there at all.

As if he were a ghost.

 

_____

 

 

_____

 

 

_____

 

 

 

 

_He’s running, ears flattened against his skull, eyes watering.The plume of his breath billows out, dissipating into the cold air. It’s freezing. It must be freezing. Why can't he feel anything? It's all  black; the weight of it kissing up his pale skin, suffocating him. He’s spun and swung – around and around, in bewildering confusion. There’s no fucking way out; but wait, there’s –_

_There’s a man – with jet black hair; his face obscured; it's blurred and out of focus; a tub of water suddenly rages out of his gaping mouth; he’s choking. Claude’s eyes are wide with horror, “Please, no” he begs. The water’s replaced by bullets and Claude screams. It tears through him like a shard of glass._

 

_“NO!”_

He lurches out of his bed, eyes popping open, and out of breath. He digs his fingers into his crew cut, the tapered sides covered in sweat; then his full beard.

His cheeks are wet; body bathed in a cold sweat. The sheets are twisted around his limbs from thrashing in his sleep. 

A warm palm presses gently against the skin of Claude’s back, clammy with sweat. “Hey, hey, are you okay?” Colin asks, voice gravelly, like it’s journeyed down a narrowed tunnel. Claude hauls in a steadying breath, trying to ease his heartbeat, panicked and overwrought. “Yeah, just a nightmare” he says, pinching his eyes shut.

Colin kisses Claude’s crown, “Let me get you some water.” Claude clasps his hand in return, closing his palm around it, “Thank you.”

He’s up and out of bed – footsteps hushed against the hardwood floor. Claude glances at the bright red digits of the clock, glowing against the dark: 2:41 AM. Slowly, he grasps the chain around his neck, fingers sliding down until he palms the silver band dangling from its edge. He breathes out.

 

 

_____

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song Claude serenades Sid with (sort of?)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8dM5QYdTo08). 
> 
>  
> 
> Your feedback means the world. Let me know your thoughts!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback. A little bit of angst, but mostly just horny teenagers in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference to past drug use.

 

_____

 

The beach stretched out alongside the tepid waters; the waves moving with force, but dying within a few feet from the shoreline. From them comes the salty smell of the sea, rushing up the stretch of sand, right through Claude’s nose. Sid’s still reading. Claude’s syrup-tinted sunglasses perched on the bridge of his big nose, sliding down every few minutes. Claude presses his lips to Sid’s sloped neck, the skin glistening under the sun.

 

“Almost done” he murmurs, turning the page, eyes lifting up beneath the thin lenses.

 

“Take your time” Claude says, arms circling Sid’s waist. His skin’s still wet, trunks still damp – the cotton soaked up by the waves like a rag. They’re pressed together. Sid’s back flush against the sun rust skin of Claude’s chest. A little sticky from the paste of sunscreen. Claude’s calves are starting to itch from the rough beach blanket splayed beneath, toes ploughing through the wet, heavy sand.

 

He surveys the volleyball game down the left end of the beach. Two on two. The white lattice shivering against the slight ocean breeze, held in place by galvanized steel poles, dug deep into the sand.

 

Buzz-cut leaps into the sky and spikes the volley at a sharp angle, right through his opponent’s block. The rubber ball’s drilled into the pit, culminating in a spray of sand. He hollers, slapping his open palm against his partner’s. Loud as a crack. They set up again; the black ball batted skyward and across the Kevlar net with a fist. They volley back and forth before Blondie crouches low, arms ramrod straight. He taps the ball, delicate, sending it upward for his partner, who springs and slams it over the net. _Game point._  

 

Sid’s book snaps shut. Claude blinks, sluggish; his consciousness ebbing away with the heat. Sid noses at his chin, tilting his mouth up at a slant to catch Claude’s sundried lips. “Done” he whispers.

 

It was the first Saturday of September. They were at Cherry Beach, the warm air like velvet on Claude’s ruddy skin. Not quite sweltering, as it had been the last few months; summer’s dead now.

 

It’s winding down, a quarter to seven; a gust of warmth prickles Claude’s bare limbs, ruffling the tawny morass of rings and tangles atop his head.

 

Claude sighs, smacking his lips against Sid’s full cheek; Sid sways sideways with it. “Let’s go, huh. My shorts are plastered to my ass.” Sid lets out a horselaugh, pink-faced and unfairly adorable. Claude’s shades droop down the bridge of his nose once more, revealing a pair of olive eyes, bright and full, squinting against the setting sun. Claude’s blood warms at that face, the muscles of his back tingling, his heart light as tissue-paper.

 

He pulls his tank back on as Sid slides back into his T.  Claude opens his jacket, standing to drape it over Sid’s shoulders; Sid slips his arms into the sleeves, the cuffs hanging just an inch too long. “Ready?”

 

“Mm-hmm.”

 

They walk hand in hand back to the car. Claude towing the blanket and Sid’s backpack in his free hand. Sid was spending the night – his parents thinking he was staying over at Kris'. Last Tuesday it was Nick’s. That’s how it went. Sid lying over and over and Claude encouraging it. But in what reality would it ever be okay? Barring the fact that Sid’s parents despised him? Still none.

 

Troy had hurled his tasseled shoe at Claude’s head the last time, in the middle of Claude’s lunch break – yelling his fucking lungs out as Claude stood and watched; an anger so raw, eyes slit-like, close enough to spit on, pointedly jabbing his fat finger into Claude’s chest, bruising the skin. _“_ I will not have _this_ in _MY FAMILY_! _”_ There was a white fire brewing in Claude’s eyes, a psychotic glee in his face at the satisfaction of pushing this fucker over the edge. The one keeping Sid away. He had never felt so drunk in his life.

 

He’s ashamed of it now. For hurting Sid. Still, Sid’s going to be hauled _–_ fucking _dragged –_ to boarding school if they ever found out Claude was still hanging around their son. He’s sure of it. Asshole that he was. And still is. Refusing to give him up.

 

He shakes his head, hard; sore eyes fixed on the street lamp in the distance; he could feel the colour bleeding out of his vision. He was so fucking tired of it all. He just wanted to be with him.

 

“Claude?”

 

Claude turns to him, staring “You hungry?” A black forelock of hair hangs over Sid’s eyes. He was staring back now, eerily intense, the lamp’s washed out glare bouncing into his eyes – as if he were privy to the aggravation rattling inside Claude’s skull. The strange trance slowly fades as Sid gives him a smile and nods. “What are we having?” he says.

 

Claude reels him in, “Chicken burgers and curly fries. Got all the veg cut up and ready, got the sauces and the buns. Just need to put ‘em in the pan.” Sid sways into him a little more; eyes bright, grateful, and deep. “Cookie dough ice cream’s in the freezer” he says next, bumping their noses together.

 

Sid lifts his arms up, wrists locking behind the freckled scoop of Claude’s neck. “Yum.”

 

Claude closes his swelling eyes, swallowing hard.

 

 

_____

 

 

He’s a little frantic once they’re inside. He drops Sid’s bag with a thud; whirling him around, a small sigh of anxiety leaping from his mouth, swallowed by Sid’s lips.

 

Claude holds him close, exploring the curve of his ass with reckless abandon, kissing him for as long as he could hold his breath. Cologne still sweetening the line of Sid’s neck. Claude inches back, heaving like he’s just ran track. “You uh – you wanna eat first?” Sid blinks; soft, pale eyes still stuck to Claude’s mouth. Sid reaches for him, pulling him back inside – Claude grips him tight. Not wanting to let go. “No” Sid says. “Want you first.”

 

...

 

They explore each other’s mouths, lying face to face. Sid hikes his leg up, curling it around Claude’s narrow waist. It’s been five months since that first date. Two since they started sleeping together. Falling hard fast; the naturalness, the intimacy and ease of being with Sid growing tenfold; like the summer bloom of petals, papery and thin, stretching toward the sun. So completely tangible. The promise that Sid’ll keep him.

 

Claude dips his fingers into the plastic jar, coating his fingers in the thick wax. “Wanna do things to you, Sid” he murmurs, slow and deliberate; teeth skimming Sid’s earlobe, idle fingertips stroking the skin at the edge of his collar. “Like what?” Sid asks. Claude sighs.

_“Things.”_ He let that trail off and bit his lip.

 

“What kind of things?”

 

"Just..."

 

“ _Just_ what?”

 

 “Dirty.” Claude’s eyes darkened and burned. “ _Dirty fucking things._ ”

 

Sid dips his head, wedging his face into the crook of Claude’s neck; hiding. He clutches at the furrowed bed sheets, trying to drag them down. Red as a tomato. “You’re so gross” he murmurs. Claude loves getting a rise out of him; it’s the cutest fucking thing. Like the first time his fingers had hinged on Sid’s prostate. Sid’s eyes flew wide and wild at the touch. “ _What was that!?"_ His mouth sat agape like a fish, a cluster bomb exploding in that big fucking brain of his. “ _That’s your G spot, baby_ ” Claude had teased, dissolving into a fit of laughter before a swift kick to the shins came. He would spend over twenty minutes coaxing a chagrined, red-faced Sid back into his arms.

 

He guides his hand between Sid’s warm thighs now, his head moves around to Sid’s perked ear; he blows in it, whispering what’s coming next.

 

...

 

The smooth, knotted flesh yields to Claude’s digits; he sinks them deep into Sid’s heat.

 

Sid moans softly at the intrusion, tugging on Claude’s shoulder, squeezing his bared hip with the strong flesh of his soft-hued thigh. Thick muscle, wound and shuddering, outlined by the rigid cords of Sid’s bright blue veins. Claude presses his mouth to Sid’s closed eyelid, “S’okay.” This was going to hurt, “Breathe with me.”

 

Claude bears down, seizing the mass of Sid’s right buttock, stretching the mound of skin back before driving in deep, down to his knuckles – tormenting Sid’s prostate with the curved pads of his fingers. Buffing slick, maddening circles around that blazing, swollen spot before pounding it head on. Every part of Claude was flexed – every part of him blood-tanned and tumescent at the sight of a panting, breathless Sid; the thump of his pulse rapid beneath Claude’s fingers.

 

Sid spills on a cry, grappling at the skin of Claude’s back. Raw and aching.

 

Claude slinks down Sid’s stout frame as he lies back against the mesh of pillows – nosing in at the musk and sweat between his lax thighs, past his soft, pink length, along the diamond of his perineum. Claude hefts Sid’s ass up. Wetting his lips, he pushes in, planting a scorching kiss to Sid’s rim; pressing in more firmly, against the puffed ring of muscle – _right to his_ _core_ – Claude offers him another. Slow and sweet.

 

He lifts his head to find Sid staring up at the bare bulb bolted to the cracked, beige ceiling. Still as a statue, limbs like spaghetti. His black lashes heavy with liquid. Claude watches as a pearl-shaped tear rolls down from those wide, luminous eyes, streaking his left cheek. He sniffles and Claude’s heart pangs in his chest.

 

He hauls Sid into his arms.

 

Sid cups his chin, leaning forward to graze the edge of Claude’s mouth with his lips. “Fuck, Sid. Don’t scare me like that” Claude scolds, rubbing at his face. Sid continues to peck the freckles of Claude’s face with exhausted little kisses, completely out to lunch.

 

 

_____

 

 

“No mustard.”

 

Claude sets the yellow bottle down and reaches for the pile of foiled ketchup packets, tearing them open and spreading the condiment over Sid’s toasted burger bun with a plastic knife. Sid’s pressed against the line of his back, chin hooked over Claude’s shoulder, on his tip toes as he peers down, watching Claude’s hands work.

 

Claude twists the plastic cap off the jar of pickles. “ _Uh-uh_ ” Sid says, pushing it away.

 

Claude swivels the lid back on, adding a slice of cheddar cheese atop the searing chicken.

 

“Can I have another?”

 

Claude hums, peeling the wrapping off a second slice, stacking it on top of the first sliver, half-way melted into the slab of protein; a chunk of lettuce comes next, a slice of fresh tomato, and some raw onions. Sid squeezes Claude’s hips, “A little more.”

 

“You bring your tooth brush?” Claude demands, side-eyeing him. Sid giggles, biting down on Claude’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

 

Claude adds some more, then a glob of mayonnaise, flattening it all down with the oval-shaped bun. The fries are golden-brown, a little burnt, but deliciously crunchy. He hands the plate off to Sid.

 

They eat at Claude’s kitchen table. Ugly and round, the size of a cartwheel, made of rough, aged wood. Claude had bought it second hand. Thirty dollars. The padded folding chairs he had pillaged from his worksite at Yorkville. Sid keeps shifting in his seat, the flimsy base _just_ containing the swell of that gigantic ass.

 

He looks around at his shack of an apartment. It reminded him of a motel sometimes – dark and dingy and cheap. He kept the curtains open; kept it clean. It was the best he could do. Still, he hated bringing Sid here.

 

Sid bites into his burger, chewing softly. “Claude, _it’s so good_.”

 

Claude smiles around a mouthful of fries. The soft crunchy texture and salty flavour drying up his tongue. “Thanks, Sid.”

 

They laze in bed after dinner. Sid’s already dug out his paperback, settling between Claude’s spread legs, lying back with his head propped against Claude’s shoulder; he reads aloud, pouring himself into the worn pages. Claude vaguely recalls the book from his high school days. Fuck if he actually read it. _Lord of the Flies;_ the bloody crown of a pig, _lodged on a pike_ , certainly seems inviting.

 

Sid recites a passage about the metaphorical Beast, then another about it getting _closer and closer._ Claude splays his hands over the open book, covering the words -- “ _Hey!_ ” – shoving it back. “Sid, put that shit away. I’m not gonna be able to sleep” he pleads.

 

Sid chews on his lip. “How about that ice cream? Claude offers, squeezing Sid’s ribcage; fingers hovering then _catching_ that sensitive space above the jut of his left hip. Sid fidgets, laughing from his gut. Claude loves making him laugh; loves laughing with him.  “ _Okay!_ ” Sid shouts, the horror show of a book slipping from his hands.

 

_Thank fuck._

 

Claude jumps out of bed and toward the freezer, slotted just above the cube-shaped fridge; the size of a cooler box, noisy and dirty. Claude heaves it open; a mess of ice cream greets him at the other end; liquid dripping down the white plastic box, sticky puddles everywhere; the built up layer of ice melting away.

 

“Fuckin’. _Fuck_. FUCK!” Claude shouts, tossing the sopping carton into the sink. He slams the freezer shut.

 

Sid looms behind him, gently cupping Claude’s shoulders, fingers pressing in. “S’okay.”

 

“Nah” Claude says, shaking his head. “I’ll drive down to Dairy Queen. They’re still open.”

 

“No” Sid protests, lacing his arms around Claude’s shoulders. “It’s okay. Promise.”

 

Claude turns around, hands sliding up Sid’s neck, cradling his face as he stares down at him; his cat-like eyes glowing in the dark. Like wet pebbles. Fuck, they were beautiful. “No” Claude says, “I promised you ice cream and I’m gonna get it.”

 

“ _But_ – ”

 

“I’ll be back in ten” Claude says, pinching Sid’s cheeks. “ _Promise_.”

 

Sid hugs him. Fitting perfectly inside Claude’s arms, gone quiet. Claude lifts him clear off his feet, one arm around his waist, the other hand buried deep in Sid’s hair as he nuzzles his neck, making him laugh again.

 

He sets him back down, dropping a kiss to his forehead – grabbing his wallet and the keys – before heading out the front door.

 

 

_____

 

 

He gazes straight ahead, into the pattern of traffic lights, fingers stroking the base of the wheel, idling. Cars are still littering the streets. His foot pumps the gas as the signal flashes from red, to bright green; Claude takes the next right; slowly turning back into the lit parking lot, in the claustrophobic comfort of the car – borrowed from Nealsy for his date with Sid. Claude had gotten a waffle cone dipped in chocolate with sprinkles. Cookie-dough for Sid, resting in a plastic cup.

 

He silences the ignition, drawing the keys out, his hands full. He makes his way back the apartment complex, gravel crunching beneath his flip flops. Cradling their cones against his chest, Claude jimmies the lock.

 

He finds Sid inside, perched on the edge of the bed. But – _his shoes are on_ , his backpack steady in his lap. His eyes rise to meet Claude’s.

 

A spike of cold adrenaline floods him at once; pumping and beating like it’s trying to escape him.

 

“Baby, what’s wrong” he starts, crossing the room over to Sid in two big strides. Sid recoils, casting his gaze toward the ground; Claude’s stomach plummets. He drops his cone into Sid’s cup, settling both on the ground as he kneels in front of him. His hands reach out – “ _Sid._ ”

 

Sid meets his eyes. Dark and angry; irises glowering, a spark away from catching fire. He opens his fist, revealing a plastic bag, small enough to fit inside his palm – crushed powder packed into the corner; tiny little granules. Stark white. Claude could feel the blood drain from his face, his heart hammering erratically. _What the fuck._

“Sid – _that’s not_ – ”

 

“I found it in the bathroom” Sid says, cutting him off, words clipped. He stares at Claude, wrapping his arms around himself, pinching into his own skin as he contemplates the tangled sheets, mortified.  Like he wants to erase everything they had just done in Claude’s bed. “I’m going home.”

 

Claude’s blunt eyes widen. “Sid, no, no, no. Listen to me” Claude pleads; his shaky hands try to reach for Sid once more. “I don’t touch that fucking shit” Claude rails. “Not now. Not ever again.” The bow of his lips quiver. He unbuttons the seam of them once more, pouring his heart into the next four syllables. “ _You know me, Sid”_ he says, voice hoarse and scratchy; like a parched beach.

His eyes snap shut.

He remembers the first time he had done a line. His nineteenth birthday – he hit it hard. His jellyfish brain glowing in the club; his blood turning to mercury. His heart felt like it was going to explode inside his body; slurring nonsense, sweating, teeth chattering; like there was this fire in him that could have lit up the entire universe. He shudders at the memory.

 

Sid stands, chin raised in defiance. “Then what’s it doing _here_?!” he shouts, chucking the bag, knuckling at his eyes. Claude’s on his feet in an instant, hands still hovering over Sid’s face. _Don’t fucking touch him._

 

He wracks his screaming brain. It felt like he was in a dream. The heavy vibration of music, nearly blaring, suddenly routs him; swearing and laughing and drinking. His lungs feeling like mush. It felt like his world was spinning now. Nealsy with his toothy grin and his six-pack, Marshy and Scott. Thursday night. And – oh. Fucking Mike _. That fucking degenerate, crack-head, fiend._ In and out of Claude’s apartment all night.

 

It was his.

 

Claude’s going to tear him to pieces; grab him by the throat and –

Sid’s shuffling toward the door, the strap of his backpack gripped tight in his pallid fist. Claude trails after him, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Sid, don’t go” he begs; the words catch in his throat; his lungs felt snared by metal bands. “ _I love you_. Please.” He wraps his arms around Sid from behind, hauling him back into his chest. Pressing every ounce of himself into every ounce that was Sid. He can’t breathe. There’s no space to breathe.

 

“Sid, look at me” he says, pressing the words into Sid’s neck. “I promise you. _I swear to you.”_ He softens his hold, just enough for Sid to turn around and face him. Sid looks up at him. _Really looks at him_ ; eyes hard-rimmed and fixed. Claude tries not to wilt beneath their shadow. “Cross my heart” he breathes, feeling his eyes prick. He thinks back to Marshy – declaring him full on, _pistol whipped_ over Sid. His eyes bloodshot, lids sagging; his face hung loose and long. A felling of anger had roiled in Claude. He had his fist cocked, ready to bloody that hideous thing he called a nose – if only Scott hadn’t lugged his drunk ass away. But only now does he realize _it’s true_. It’s so true, and he doesn’t give a fuck. He reaches up, gliding his thumbs across the frail skin beneath Sid’s eyes.

 

The clenched muscles of Sid’s jaw ease, his mouth parts in a hiccup. Rigid eyes suddenly softening as they dart nervously – _back and forth_ – between Claude’s. Claude’s heart throbs against the cage of his chest.

 

_Please._

Sid falls forward, dropping his bag and clutching him tight. _Crushing him_. Claude collapses against him, relief welling at the pit of his stomach, rising higher and higher. He felt like he was holding the entire world in his hands. “ _Sid_ ” he says, voice cracking.

 

“ _Whose then_?” Sid says, sucking in a harsh breath, face tucked underneath Claude’s chin.

 

“Mike. He – he was over.”

 

“I was so scared when I saw it” Sid says, pressing his nose to Claude’s throat. “I wanna flush it down the toilet.”

 

Claude sweeps his hands up the back of Sid’s neck, cupping his head to tilt it upward; he swoops down to seal his mouth over Sid’s; kisses him, something deep and fierce, like a cloud of bullets tearing the sky. “Okay.”

 

And they do.

 

They cuddle and they kiss, all night long; eventually falling asleep with Sid cocooned in his arms, tucked into Claude’s chest. “Love you. Goodnight” he says, stretching up to Claude’s ear to whisper the sweet words before falling away.

 

Claude’s chest rises and falls with each breath. His eyes dip; emotions trundling up, then down, still no sign of ceasing; he wonders aloud, asking himself why all of this had to be so fucking hard.

 

 

_____

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


End file.
